


Human Nature

by ChemicalOrgasm



Series: The Unexpected Series [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Bridge Crew Antics, Bullying, Child in Distress, Danger, Death Threats, Domestic Bliss, Drama, Established Relationship, Familial Bonds, Family Feels, Fanart, Fluff, Gratuitous Amounts of Partying, Humor, Hurt!Jim, Hurt!Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Illogical Humans, Insanity, Interspecies Relationship(s), Katra, M/M, Male Slash, Mild descriptions of gore/injury, Mind Meld, Nightmares, Obsession, Oral Sex, Parenthood, Possession, Reunions, Slow Build, Suspense, The Genesis Project, Violence, Vulcan Language, Vulcan Mind Shit, Vulcan traditions, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 203,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5676202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemicalOrgasm/pseuds/ChemicalOrgasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Jim left his Silver Lady; three since Spock had left <em>him</em> for <em>Her</em> and our family of three reunite after a long separation. After the end of Spock's five year mission aboard the <em>Enterprise</em> as her captain, he returns to San Francisco to once again insert himself into the lives of Jim and his son David.<br/>With Jim working for Starfleet again, he joins a project headed by an important Vulcan Professor, providing her with his engineering skills before disaster strikes. Together, they will have to fight history as it seeks to repeat itself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartfelt Reunions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm back! I told you all I'd write a sequel and I wasn't lying! I really suck at summaries, so hopefully it wasn't too off-putting. Also, if you're a first time reader of my fics and stumble upon this one first, I strongly suggest you read _'Unexpected'_ first, for it will cause this sequel to make a lot more sense to you. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the wonderful support you guys have been giving me, as well as your titillating comments and inspiration. A special thanks goes to NWKate and her lovely swiftness in beta reading for my first chapter, as well as all her wonderful insights and inspiration; as well as listening to my fevered rants.  
> I want to extend a personal thanks to MissBAMF, as well as arrowinthesky (restfulsky5) for lending me their ears and opening their hearts to the discussions of my fic and current ideas. May both your writing endeavors come with ease and forward and onward, I say! 
> 
> Without further ado, here is _'Human Nature'_ s first chapter, I hope you like it. <3

_'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_  
_And sorry I could not travel both_  
_And be one traveler, long I stood_  
_And looked down one as far as I could_  
_To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_Then took the other, as just as fair,_  
_And having perhaps the better claim_  
_Because it was grassy and wanted wear,_  
_Though as for that the passing there_  
_Had worn them really about the same,_

_And both that morning equally lay_  
_In leaves no step had trodden black._  
_Oh, I marked the first for another day!_  
_Yet knowing how way leads on to way_  
_I doubted if I should ever come back._

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_  
_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_  
_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,_  
_I took the one less traveled by,_  
_And that has made all the difference'_

- _'The Road Not Taken'_ , by Robert Frost

There is a nervousness and excitement about the bridge crew of the _Enterprise_ that even Spock cannot ignore as he sits one last time in the center seat. They all focus on the viewing screen as the long shape of Starbase One expands upon their approach. 

"Captain," Uhura's clear voice cuts through the silence aboard the bridge, addressing the Vulcan in the center of the room, causing him to turn his head in her direction, "We are within range, shall I hail Approach Control?" 

Spock rubs his thumb over the smooth surface of the armrest of the chair, casting his eyes past the looming shape of Starbase One in order to appreciate the deep blue and white orb of Earth beyond it. A feeling comes over him so stark that it momentarily renders him without speech, his throat working as he swallows and resists the urge to fidget in his seat. Today, he, along with the rest of his crew, would be coming face-to-face with those they had left behind. Perhaps their excitement was affecting him more than he realized. "Proceed, Lieutenant." Spock replies finally, the eyes of his friends and crew turning towards him with knowing looks of their own. 

"Approach Control, this is _Enterprise_ , ready for docking maneuver." Lieutenant Uhura says, adjusting the communications piece in her ear as she turns toward the viewing screen from her seat. 

Starbase One replies, " _Enterprise_ is clear to dock." 

"Lock on." Spock acknowledges, realizing that this will be one of his last orders to his crew as Lieutenant Sulu brings their ship around towards the loading bay doors in the upper most saucer of spacedock. 

"Systems locked," Lieutenant Sulu replies, his voice steady and not betraying the wide smile illuminating his features. 

Spock looks towards the view screen, feeling the _Enterprise_ shudder minutely beneath them as Spacedock locks onto their position, engaging their tractor beams. "Spacedock, you have control." Spock confirms.

The cheery voice from Starbase One echoes across the bridge, "Affirmative, _Enterprise_ , and welcome home." 

" _Enterprise_ confirms." Spock acknowledges, completing standard protocols. Everyone relaxes back from their stations, watching as the large bay doors yawn open before them, the _Enterprise_ tugged forward along her invisible tow-line. The blinking lights pointing them home fill the bridge with echoing flashes and flickers. 

The turbolift doors slide open behind Spock and he turns, regarding Dr. McCoy as he comes sauntering onto the bridge. He approaches the center seat and stands next to Spock's right shoulder. "I don't know about you guys, but I'll be glad to get my feet on some solid ground again." He grouses, causing Spock to arch a brow in his direction. 

"Your continued discomfort with space travel is highly illogical, Doctor." Spock points out, "especially considering the last three years and two months." 

The Doctor rolls his eyes, "Illogical or not, I'll be glad to breath un-recycled air finally. Can't blame a man for his sentimentality, Mr. Spock." 

"Indeed, Doctor." Spock concedes. 

"And I know I'm not the only one anxious to get back to Earth." The Doctor casts his captain a knowing, smug look; which causes Spock to stand and straighten his uniform out. He still wasn't too keen on the garish gold of the tunic he had been wearing for four years now. 

"Negative, Doctor, Vulcans do not experience anxiety." Spock argues, engaging in the banter he now knew McCoy considered conversation between friends. He would take the bait this one last time. 

"The hell they don't," Dr. McCoy mutters, folding his arms across his chest, "your meal card shows you haven’t eaten since breakfast." 

Spock tips his chin to the side, glancing at the Doctor from the corners of his eyes, knowing what he's about to say, "Vulcans do not require sustenance as frequently as humans, Doctor." 

"Yeah, well I wouldn't argue except that breakfast I’m talkin’ about was two days ago." McCoy gripes, casting Spock another look, this one more exasperated than smug. 

"Oh shut up, you two." Lieutenant Uhura cuts in from behind them, stepping down off the higher platform to approach her Captain and the CMO. She crosses her arms over the back of the center seat, warm brown eyes affectionately regarding the Vulcan and Doctor. "We're home and you two are still bickering." She chuckles, "couldn't you two make peace just this once?" 

Spock and McCoy exchange a brief glance, seeming to have the same reply in mind as they both turn to Uhura and say: 

"No." 

"Negative." 

She rolls her eyes, pulling her earpiece free and glancing at Lieutenant Commander Caulfield to her left. "I guess I shouldn't have asked." She smirks, her commanding officer still seated at the science station chuckling. 

"Captain," Lieutenant Caulfield rises. "Permission to be dismissed from the bridge." 

Spock lets his eyes drift over the eager faces of his crew, marveling at their excitement. He supposes, given that this is their home, that the cause for their emotions is logical. However, Spock's own emotional responses to this homecoming are not. His home had been destroyed a little over five years ago, the only home he was returning to was San Francisco, which did not hold the same qualities of comfort for Spock. However, if he were being truthful, the feelings of coming home he was experiencing could be attributed more to his impatience to be reunited with James and David than the physical destination. 

"Permission granted, Lieutenant Commander." Spock replies after a beat, hearing his First Officer step towards the turbolift. 

"Well would you look at that," Bones pipes up from behind Chekov where he's gone to stand, resting his hand along the back of the young navigator's seat. His words direct all their eyes back towards the viewing screen where they take in the sight of their massive sister ship in its hanger resting beside their position as Spacedock brings them in. 

"The Excelsior." Lieutenant Sulu chimes in, his voice breathy with awe and wonder. 

The turbolift opens once more, revealing Lieutenant Scott, who comes to stand at the railing behind Uhura.

"She's supposed to have trans-warp drive," Lieutenant Sulu comments, never taking his eyes off the ship, which is very nearly ready for trial runs. 

"Aye," Scotty comments, "and if my granny had wheels, she'd be a wagon." 

"Mr. Scott," Spock intones, "one would be wise to remain tolerant of the progression of science." 

The Engineer snorts, "She'll never be as pretty as the _Enterprise_."

The rest of the crew smile at the Lieutenant's fervent loyalty to his ship, seemingly in silent agreement, save for Lieutenant Sulu. 

"Stand by umbilical and gravitational support systems," Spock remarks, catching his pilot's attention once more. Lieutenant Sulu's fingers return to the controls, flicking at buttons and toggles with a glance at his display screen. 

"Aye sir, moorings activated, all systems standing by." Lieutenant Sulu replies, leaning back in his seat once more; his responsibilities finished. 

With the _Enterprise_ docked in bay four, Lieutenant Sulu and Lieutenant Chekov stand from their stations. There is a feeling of hesitance however, as they all gaze about the bridge. Lieutenant Uhura is the first to speak, "Trading one home for another..." She murmurs. 

Spock inclines his head in silent agreement, one of the first to move towards the turbolift in pursuit of Doctor McCoy, whose enthusiasm for returning to Earth cannot be matched. 

"Well, c'mon...let’s get out of here before they decide to send us out on some rescue mission." The Doctor grumbles, turning in the lift as everyone else files in after him. 

"You von't miss ze ship, Doctor? Ewen a little?" Lieutenant Chekov asks, casting the man a long look. 

Dr. McCoy shuffles where he stands, garnering a hard glance from Lieutenant Scott for his hesitance, as if to warn him off from speaking out against the ship itself. "It's not the ship I'll miss, but the people." 

"Leonard..." Uhura beams softly and lifts her head, sliding up on her toes to press a brief kiss against the Doctor's cheek. 

The Doctor flushes visibly, his face turning scarlet, the lift doors opening to save him from his embarrassment as he grumps, "Yeah, yeah, c'mon, let’s not get overly emotional about it." 

With wide grins, they all emerge out onto deck five to return to their quarters, as everyone about the ship prepares to leave their responsibilities in the hands of Starbase control. Spock slips into his quarters and regards them from just inside the door for a moment; peering about the clinically white walls he had considered his place of respite throughout the years of the mission. He is already packed, his belongings sorted into two regulation duffle bags. It seems odd that four years can be so easily contained in two small bags; it makes Spock realize how very little he has considered this ship to be his real home. No, his home is several miles below them. 

Sliding the straps of his bags onto his shoulder, he takes one more turn about the cabin, squaring his shoulders. When he turns towards the door to his quarters a last time, he blinks in surprise when he sees Jim Kirk standing there, a wide grin spreading over his lips when he sees the shock clearly evident on Spock's face. 

"Never thought you would be captain for this long, did you Spock?" Jim asks softly, causing Spock's brows to furrow minutely. This isn't real, this much he knows, for he had this conversation with Jim over six months ago across a sub-space transmission. 

"I had never considered the length of time that I would remain captain of the _Enterprise_ , James." He intones softly, sliding his bags to the floor. 

Jim's expression softens as he looks towards the floor, sifting a hand back through his hair and walking closer to Spock, his steps unhurried. "No, I guess not...you never wanted to be her Captain in the first place, did you Spock?" 

Spock catches his breath as blue eyes slide up to regard him, just as clear and keen as the last time Spock had seen them in person. His hands shake until he clasps them tightly, sliding them behind his back because he knows this memory will end if he were to reach out to try and touch Jim. "The responsibility of commanding a ship was not abhorrent to me." 

"Of course not," Jim smiles, "you just liked watching me do it instead." 

Spock swallows, studying Jim's face as it has been reconstructed by his memories, and when Jim leans up towards him, his hands reaching towards Spock's face, he closes his eyes and when they open again, he is alone once more. A shiver rolls through Spock's body as his twenty-third hallucination of Jim comes to a close. During the years commanding the _Enterprise_ , Spock had been alarmed at first by his mind's blatant loss of control but he theorized that it must have been the link between them endeavoring to satisfy the yearning that Spock felt in that place in the back of his skull where his connection to Jim resided. He hadn't shared these moments with anyone, not even the Doctor, but these instances had increased in frequency the closer he and the ship came to Earth. 

Realizing his heart is still pounding in his side, Spock attempts to regain control over it with a few deep breaths, reaching down to lift his bags once more and shouldering their weight. He doesn't look back as he exits out into the corridor, intent on his destination as he strides towards the transporter room. He is almost there when two more of his bridge crew fall into step beside him. 

"I swear, after this, I'm never stepping onto a transporter pad again." Dr. McCoy mutters petulantly as they clear the doors into the transporter bay. 

"Not even to get to Georgia?" Uhura asks, tossing her question in front of Spock as she leans around him to look at the Doctor. 

"I'd rather drive it." He grumbles.

"It would take you an estimated thirty-six hours, Doctor. It would be illogical to waste such resources simply to humor your distaste for transport technologies." Spock argues, winning a glare from the man. 

"I'd drive from here to Pluto if it meant I wouldn't have to get in a transporter again, Spock." 

Uhura laughs, shifting the weight of her bag along her arm as they step up onto the transporter pad; followed by two security ensigns. "You know, I almost believe you." She smirks. 

"Well, you can bet your sweet cheeks on it, sister." Dr. McCoy drawls, fidgeting uncomfortably on the platform. "Mr. Spock?" 

Spock arches a brow, his attention drawn from Mr. Scott standing behind the transporter controls; turning his head to look across his shoulder at the Doctor. 

"You ready to face the music?" 

Spock blinks, recognizing the human idiom, "I highly doubt that there will be music to herald our arrival in Spacedock, Doctor." 

McCoy rolling his eyes is the last thing he sees before Lieutenant Scott beams them over to the receiving pad in the reception room of Starbase One, effectively ending their ensuing argument. When the familiar feeling of his particles reforming ends, Spock opens his eyes and looks around the familiar room. 

"Welcome home, Captain Spock," a familiar voice greets them from the left and Spock turns to see a slow smile spread across Admiral Pike's features. "Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura." He greets next, approaching them as they step down off the transporting platform.

"Admiral!" Uhura responds with a smile, her excitement bubbling over into her speech. 

"Welcome to the calm before the storm," Their attending Admiral remarks, leaning heavily on his cane for support.

"Great..." Dr. McCoy mutters, rolling his eyes, "my least favorite part about comin' home." 

"That's right Doctor, debriefings are scheduled for tomorrow at 0800 hours. But for now, you've all got that to contend with." Admiral Pike motions their attention towards the wall of glass across from them where a waiting room filled with people meets their eyes. Spock stiffens minutely, drawing his mental shields around himself tightly.

"We limited how many reporters could be in attendance, but unfortunately the number is still staggering. Can't blame them for wanting some juicy quotes on the return home of Starfleet's flagship." Admiral Pike glances proudly at them, now joined by Lieutenant Chekov, Lieutenant Sulu, and Lieutenant Commander Caulfield stepping down off the transporter platform. "Best game-faces, people. They're pushy, but we've got security." 

Spock draws himself up to his full height, glancing down at Uhura when she touches his arm briefly, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Point A to Point B, folks. The quicker we can get you through all that mess out there, the faster you'll all be on your way back to Earth. They're only allowed in the waiting room out there, so once you leave that room they can't follow you." Admiral Pike assures them, providing Spock with at least a sliver of peace in that knowledge. All he has to do is get to the shuttle bay where he can catch a lift to San Francisco. 

Gritting his teeth, Spock takes the lead, as is expected, with Uhura on his right and Caulfield to his left. They emerge from the sliding glass doors into the waiting area, having already been spotted by the majority of the crowd. Immediately, voice recorders are shoved in their direction, a swell of bodies pressing in towards them as the entire bridge crew pulls in tight with one another. Security officers endeavor to press the crowd back a fraction and Spock is temporarily blinded by the bright lights on the camera headsets of a few of the reporters, his image being transmitted across various public frequencies. Idly, Spock wonders if Jim and David are watching the feeds and might hear this. 

_"Captain Spock, how does it feel to be back home?"_

_"Captain Spock, is it true that you initially turned down the position on the Enterprise?"_

_"Captain, Captain! Over here! Captain!"_

_"Captain, a quote for the Sol Times!"_

_"Will you be returning to New Vulcan, Captain?"_

_"Captain!"_

Spock closes his eyes for a moment, drawing on the calm place in his mind to settle his nerves at being verbally assaulted by these people. Their words are thick in the air, all of them clamoring to be heard over one another and there is no single question he would choose to answer, so he remains silent until he is reminded of the physical presence of strength at his back, and in his heart. Jim would have handled this much better than he. That thought causes him to draw his chin up, finding the nearest camera and staring into its lens with calm conviction. "I believe I may speak on behalf of every one of my crew in saying it is good to be home." The questions cease as he speaks, but after a brief silence, they start back up again and Spock blinks, allowing himself to be pulled in the direction of the waiting room doors. The reporters follow: 

_"Captain Spock! Do you consider Earth your home now?"_

_"Captain! Captain!"_

_"Captain Spock, what has happened to James T. Kirk?"_

The last question to reach his ears causes him to hesitate and Caulfield turns at his shoulder, casting an imploring and confused look his way as he whips his head around to find the person who had mentioned Jim. "Captain?" She questions, studying his profile keenly. "Captain, there will be time for more questions at the debriefing. Let’s go." Her brown eyes flit over his features and Spock knows he should bite his tongue, that such a question is unworthy of an answer. 

But instead, he finds the short, squat human male standing with his recorder erected towards him, his brow showing a faint sheen of perspiration. Spock takes a single step towards that reporter, lowering his head to speak directly into the recorder and saying, "James Kirk has moved onto far greater things in Starfleet." The presence of the Excelsior outside the observation windows is testament to that. He knows how hard Jim had been working to get the ship into space as well as other worthy endeavors for the Fleet. 

His words spark a new frenzy amongst the reporters as they scent blood in the water, all pressing forward again with renewed energy as they shout: 

_"Captain Spock, is it true you were involved romantically with your former Captain?"_

_"Captain, do you feel Starfleet missed out on a great officer in James Kirk?"_

_"Was James Kirk asked to step down?"_

Spock closes his eyes; allows his friends to escort him from the room and out into the corridor where three security officers are already pressing the crowd back into the waiting room. Spock feels he can breathe again as they emerge into the wide hallway, adjusting the strap of his bags over his shoulder and securely fixing his gaze towards the doors at the end of the hall. Starfleet personnel wander past them, casting them long looks and wide smiles. He hears their congratulations but doesn't answer them as he continues his march towards the doors at a clipped pace. 

"Spock!" Uhura's voice cuts into his thoughts and she gives him a pitying look when he glances at her. "I know you're anxious to get down there." She smiles, "so am I. But we can't go barging into the shuttle bay demanding transport. C'mon." Grinning, she follows the rest of their crew towards the transport station hall. They pass several doors on the way, Starfleet business and commerce swirling around them. The emotions attached to the bodies that brush by him in the busy anteroom off the corridor assail his shields, making him wince minutely. He hasn't meditated sufficiently for the past week, not since they had finally taken care of the last order of business before messaging Starfleet Command, explaining their delay in returning home. 

They had been en route and Spock had sent a message cube over a month and two weeks ago telling Jim and David he could be expected by the Sol standard date of January eighth. But much to the disappointment of the crew, they had been waylaid by a distress signal in the direction of the neutral zone. The situation had turned into a crisis none of them had imagined would keep them an extra month out in space, and Spock had only been able to comm Jim and David three days prior to calm their confusion. He had known right before the call had connected that Jim would be angry as well as incredibly worried and he hadn't been wrong when Jim had banished David for the latter half of the call to lay his fears out on the table to Spock. 

"Listen, Spock," Jim had said, leaning over his arms crossed over his console desk, his eyes wide and staring down at the grain in the wood, "we had no idea what had happened to you out there. You said you would be back in January, and when you didn't show up, what were we supposed to think?" 

"I had no power over the situation, James." Spock had explained softly, trying to push waves of calm feeling towards Jim through the transmission, even though he had realized it was an illogical attempt given how many light years still separated them. 

"I know, no...I know. I'm just-," Jim had winced, cringed away from the monitor and raked his hands through his hair, "it was just so terrifying, thinking about what might have happened." 

"I am safe, Jim." Spock had assured his mate over the distance that separated them, murmuring softly, "Your fears may be laid to rest." 

"God, Spock...I haven't slept well in over six weeks." Jim's shoulders had slumped, raising his face towards the monitor and showing Spock that indeed, he had deep circles beneath his eyes. "I just wish you were here already. It's been three years, Spock...don't make us wait any longer than that." He whispered. 

"Only three more solar days, James, and we shall be reunited again." He adds after a beat, knowing how Vulcan words soothe Jim, "Ashayam." 

Jim visibly shuddered when Spock spoke, wiping harshly at his eyes and leaning in close towards the monitor in his home, staring through the lens into Spock's heart from Earth. "Damn right, and you can't fault me for my actions when we finally see you again, okay? Illogical or not." 

"Indeed?" Spock had asked, arching a curious brow at his mate. 

"I might do something drastic, who knows. Might embarrass your tender Vulcan sensibilities," Jim had teased, finally settling down into his former self again, weighed down by exhaustion. 

"Perhaps we would do well not to fuel the human predilection towards gossip, Jim." He had warned. 

Jim snorted, "I won't feel you up, not in public. But I'm going to have a hug; it's been three long years coming." 

Spock's eyes soften at the memory of that conversation, his hands acting on autopilot as he buckles himself into the shuttle about to take him and the members of his bridge crew back to Earth. He glances out the view-port to his right, watching Earth turn on its axis below them as the shuttle makes its descent through the atmosphere from Starbase One. 

"This is wery vierd." Chekov speaks up, glancing around them and then outside at Earth's surface growing more distinct by the moment. 

"Why's that?" Dr. McCoy questions from his seat, his arms folded defensively over his chest. 

"Because dis iz ze first time ve vill not be returning to ze ship." Chekov explains, garnering nods from the bridge crew-members. 

"Yeah, I guess it is weird..." Uhura murmurs, turning her head around to try and catch a glimpse of Starbase One, as if she might see the _Enterprise_ somehow inside it. A silent moment of sad realization comes over them all and Spock allows himself to consider what he is leaving behind as the shuttle passes under the clouds and fog hanging over San Francisco. "But this isn't goodbye..." Uhura smiles stating what they have all been thinking in a gentle, proud voice. 

Spock takes in a slow breath at her words, wondering if she has any inkling of what direction Spock’s career will take come the end of the week. He and Admiral Pike had been discussing Starfleet's plans for him and Spock had made his requests, knowing they would be processed by the time the _Enterprise_ ’s crew gathered for the gala they would be required to attend in their honor. 

"All systems on standby, prepare for disembarking." The pilot of their shuttle announced, flicking a few switches above his head as he piloted the shuttle around to land on a tarmac in Starfleet's transportation center. Their seat-belts released with a hiss and Spock slipped his arms free of them, one of the first to stand and shoulder his bags as the shuttle craft's door popped and hissed open. 

"Oh God, yes!" Sulu howled as they stepped out into the fresh air of San Francisco, taking in exaggerated lungfuls of the air around them. 

"Is it raining? It's raining!" Uhura grins, lifting her face up towards the light precipitation drizzling down from the clouds above them. Spock recoils a little inside, knowing he should not have expected anything better of the weather here. 

They all hurry in a loose group towards the sliding doors that would lead them to the disembarking gate at the center, their steps brisk as the misting rain soaks through their regulation uniforms. Spock slides a hand down over his head once they enter, wiping the water from his sleek cap of hair. Walking down a long hallway, Spock and his senior staff emerge into the busy corridor overlooking the tarmac. When they pass through the lines cordoning off the area, they are immediately mobbed by more reporters. Spock barely holds back a scowl as recorders are shoved towards him and his crew once again. 

_"Dr. McCoy, what are you plans for the future?"_

_"Captain, was it true that you and James Kirk were romantically involved?"_

_"Lieutenant, give us a smile!"_

_"Over here Captain, a quote please!"_

Spock's fingers curl into fists as he lifts his head to peer over the heads of most of the people vying for his attention. A different kind of crowd has gathered at the gate, one comprised of a few familiar faces, those of the family and friends of his crew waiting to welcome their loved ones home. The gate area must hold at least two-hundred bodies at this point, all individuals bent on the single task of finding their friends and family. Spock can see a child, one he recognizes as the little girl pictured on Dr. McCoy's desk in his living quarters on the ship; only she has grown these last three years. 

"Daddy!" Joanna shouts over the din of the crowd, waving her arms and jumping up and down excitedly in order to be seen as her mother, Dr. McCoy's ex-wife, holds her back by a grip on her shoulders. 

"Jo-Jo!" Dr. McCoy's gruff voice cuts through the reporter's questions like a knife and he shoves forward, "Move it buddy, or I'll make you move! Nothin' is gonna keep me from my li'l girl!" He growls in the face of one shocked reporter, causing her to shrink back with her recorder clutched to her chest. 

Spock catches the moment the Doctor and his daughter reunite, Dr. McCoy sinking to his knees on the carpet and wrapping his arms around his child as she buries herself in his shoulder and neck. A pang of some unknown feeling erupts in Spock's side as he witnesses the exchange, only to have his view blocked by a cameraman stepping into his line of vision. 

_"Captain Spock!"_

Ignoring the shouts of different voices trying to gain his attention, Spock spies an opening in the crowd and makes his way toward it, feeling a tingling at the back of his head that sends the hairs along his neck standing on end. Jim is here, Jim is close! He can feel it as he scans the crowd, looking for two familiar faces. Other members of family are pushing past the reporters to welcome the bridge crew and the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew as they disembark from shuttles outside and return through the transport gate. 

"Excuse me, please." Spock intones in a firm voice, hoping his level words will increase the rate at which people might move out of his way as he shoves forward. As he moves towards the back of the meeting area, the crowd begins to thin and Spock casts his eyes towards every face he passes, following the pull of his mind towards that one individual. 

"Hey." The warm baritone of James Kirk brings Spock up short about ten paces away and Spock's head comes up sharply. Jim stands with his hands in his pockets, his eyes bright and his slow smile wide as his expression bursts into sunny pleasure at the sight of Spock. 

They stare at one another for a moment and Spock feels like he is standing at the very edge of a precipice, staring down into the valley below and knowing he needs to take that last step forward or nothing will change, his heart skipping rapidly in his side. He swallows, feeling that fine tremor move through his limbs again and recognizing it as excitement of his own. 

"Mr. Spock!" That is when Spock recognizes David, just before the child comes dashing the last few steps to toss his arms around the Vulcan. He has grown in the years they have been apart and his head now comes nearly up to Spock's stomach. As he has watched the child grow through the years over sparse transmissions and message cubes he has watched David transform more and more into the likeness of his father. "Welcome back!" David beams, tipping his face up to regard Spock excitedly. 

Spock cards a hand back through David's hair affectionately, brown eyes softening as he slides his bags to the floor beside them and grips David's shoulder companionably. "You truly have grown six and a half inches since I've seen you last." Spock intones, making David blush and beam at the same time. 

"I told you, but you wouldn't believe me!" David laughs, dropping his arms and straightening up to his full height to showcase just how much he had developed since seeing Spock last. 

"My turn," Jim's smooth voice interrupts Spock's interactions with David and he looks up just before he is enveloped in an embrace he had been anticipating. Jim's cheek brushes by his own and at the contact, Spock feels their link flare anew for the first time in three years. The feeling is staggering and almost enough to make him falter, his hands half raised from his sides in shock. He hadn't realized how very strong the pull between them had become and seemingly hadn't lost even a spark during their separation from one another. In fact, the link between them feels stronger than before as Spock encircles Jim's waist with his arms and tilts his head down into his partner's shoulder. Jim is shaking minutely and Spock feels the tremors against his own body, his hand smoothing over Jim's shoulder blades in an effort to soothe him as Jim whispers by his ear: 

"Welcome home, Spock." 

Jim's arms tighten a fraction around Spock's shoulders and the Vulcan indulges himself by letting the rest of the world around them slip away, closing his eyes to bask in the bright warmth emanating from Jim into his very katra. "James..." Spock breathes the name of his lover reverently, lingering in the embrace until Jim shifts to release him. They part reluctantly, both of them only seeming to notice the stares once a reporter's recorder is shoved near their faces. 

"Mr. Kirk, what is the nature of your relationship to Captain Spock?" It seems they had been discovered and where one reporter came, others followed and Spock felt Jim stiffen beside him at her probing question. 

Before Spock can dismiss her however, Jim grins in that cock-sure manner of his and says with a measure of swagger, "I'm his damn lover, Jesus Christ...don't you have better things to do?" With a snort, Jim reaches out and steers David in the direction of the corridor, bending down to snag one of Spock's duffle bags and slinging it over his head to rest across his chest and shoulder. 

The woman stares at them and Spock chooses not to hear the litany of voices behind them asking a running line of personal and intimately probing questions about them as Jim, Spock, and David flee the premises. They are only hounded for a few steps before Jim manages to merge them into the crowd of civilians and officers passing through the transportation center. On the escalator down to the lower level of the building, Jim glances back at Spock with a devious glint in his eyes. "I've been wanting to say that for a damn long time." He mutters. 

"What happened to our agreement?" Spock asks, arching a slender brow at his partner. 

"Let them make of it what they will, it's not like they weren't going to speculate anyway. Might as well let them have one fact straight." Jim scoffs as they pass through the sliding doors onto the sidewalk along the disembarking zone. "I parked on the street, hope you won't mind the short walk in the rain." Jim comments as he cups a hand to the back of David's head, urging him to keep up with their fast- clipped pace as they walk across Starfleet Headquarters and down the steps to the street. 

"I am surprised you do not wish to remain and converse with the rest of the crew, James." Spock comments as they reach Jim's car a block and a half away, wedged in between a delivery truck and a Starfleet security vehicle. 

"There will be plenty of time for that, I left messages for everyone, told them they could stop by for a visit whenever they were settled and ready." Jim ducks out of the rain and into the driver's side seat, unlocking the vehicle for David to climb into the back. Spock notices the absence of the booster seat as David buckles up behind them, his grin directed at the rear-view mirror over Jim's head. 

"Besides," Jim continues, "you all are tired and going to have to readjust to the time cycles here, I figured I'd pester everyone in a day or so about getting together again." Jim says with a smirk, turning on the vehicle. 

"Hello, James." The A.I. greets them as the car powers up, "where is your destination?" 

"Home." Jim says with a wide smile, selecting a program preset and releasing the steering wheel to let the autopilot take over as the ground car backs a few inches up and pulls out into traffic. Without having to worry about piloting the car, Jim half turns in his seat to regard Spock. 

"I mean, you don't mind do you? Should we stop by your apartment up town?" Jim asks, brows furrowing with consternation. 

"Negative," Spock murmurs, assuring Jim, "As I am already home, I have no need of returning to an empty apartment." 

Jim's expression warms considerably, relaxing into his seat and reaching out a hand towards Spock, his first two fingers paired together in an offer of Vulcan intimacy. Spock doesn't hesitate, but slides his own fingers over Jims' with a hot thrill of affection vibrating through the contact. This was what he had waited three years to return to; this was home.

"I'm hungry!" David quips from the backseat, bringing the moment between Spock and Jim to an abrupt close as Jim rolls his eyes and glances back at his son. 

"You just ate an hour ago!" 

"I had a snack." David clarifies, "you said we'd go out to dinner!" 

"Later." Jim chuckles, "we've got all the time in the world kid." Blue eyes slide to regard Spock knowingly. "Let Mr. Spock get comfortable at home first." 

Home; their home. Jim had received Spock's permission to move the remaining belongings he had in his apartment in San Francisco to the house he had bought two years ago, effectively moving the Vulcan into every aspect of his life. It had been a step towards commitment Spock hadn't expected from Jim, and though Jim had sounded sure of it over the sub-space transmission, Spock felt he could safely assume that it had been a long thought-out decision on his partner's end. But it had been an act of hope as well, for moving Spock's things into Jim's house had acted as a sort of promise on the Vulcan's part; a promise that he would return to them.

Now, sitting in the familiar sedan with David in the backseat chattering away about school and his extracurricular activities; Spock lets it all truly sink in for the first time. He lets his head rest back against the seat and takes the first deep breath he feels he's had in three long years. A tender notion of completeness comes over him as this feels familiar, it feels right to him, and when he glances to his left to watch Jim, he finds he is already being observed by his lover. 

"No regrets?" Jim asks softly, his brows lifting inquisitively as if he might possibly know the direction of Spock's thoughts. 

Spock doesn't consider his words long before answering, "None at all."


	2. Lives Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a look at the moment in Gate 13 from Jim's POV, as well as an abbreviated tour of the home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Chapter two! I'm on a roll and I'm afraid that if I stop, I'll lose momentum in my writing! I am taking a short rest, however, since my wrists are jacked from work. Hopefully I'll have another chapter out by Thursday.
> 
> This chapter was really sweet for me to write, since writing for Jim is so much more sentimental than writing for Spock is, for obvious reasons. I also love how uncertain Jim is in this chapter, it shows how a relationship can turn awkward after long separation, but also how easy it is to slip back into the old nature of the relationship once you get past the initial nervousness. 
> 
> The restaurant depicted loosely in this chapter is, in fact, a real place! Zero Zero is a moderately 'fancy' Italian place and it has the most charming mesh of modern/steampunk decor about it that I had to use it for this chapter. Unfortunately, I've never been!

"C'mon kiddo, we're gonna be late!" Jim shouted down the hall to his son, who was currently in his room fussing over which shirt to wear.

"This one, or this one?" David asked, peeking out from his open bedroom door with two shirts in his hand; one a button down and the other a sweater with stripes.

"Does it matter? Just pick one!" Jim sighed, rattling his keys in his hand and shifting his weight over to the other foot. 

"I don't want him to think I'm still a _child_!" David bellowed, ducking back into his room to select a shirt and pull it on, emerging a moment later looking flustered and frustrated. 

"David, to him...you'll always be a child. Just as you'll always be my kid, eight years old or not." 

"Eight and _a half_!" David corrected him, a little petulantly. 

Jim blinked, "Woah there, smart-aleck, mind changing the attitude before we get there?" 

"Sorry..." David grumbled sullenly, shoving his feet into his high-tops and leaving the laces untied, a habit Jim had yet to break him of. 

"I know you didn't sleep well last night, but neither did I, and I kind of doubt Spock wants to see our grumpy faces at the terminal." Opening the door to the stairs leading down into their garage, Jim unlocks the car and snaps his fingers at David when his son goes for the front passenger seat, "ah, ah! What did we talk about, kid?" Jim chuckles, sliding into the driver's seat. "Just because I let you do it one time when you were car sick doesn't mean that seat is permanently yours. You're still not old enough, David." 

Heaving another long sigh, David complies, shuffling into the back seat of their car just as the A.I. greets Jim. 

"Destination?" It inquires in the same, deep voice David had always thought sounded like Spock. 

"Starfleet Transportation Center off Hollywood and Pine." Jim replies, turning in his seat to back out of their garage and onto the street. 

"Dad?" 

"Yeah, bud?" Jim squints and turns on the windshield wipers, muttering under his breath, "Spock isn't going to like San Francisco's welcoming." 

"Do you think he'll recognize me?" David asks; his voice small in the backseat and sounding uncertain. 

"Of course," Jim frowns a little, casting a glance up at his son in the rear-view mirror, "why wouldn't he? He just saw you over a call three days ago." 

Seemingly satisfied with that logic, David poses another question, "Do you think he'll like the house?" 

"Well, I hope so, because I can't afford another one." Jim says with a light chuckle, feeling a little buoyant with his own flustered excitement. Three years...three years and two months to be exact. Of course the delay in _Enterprise_ ’s return meant that Spock had missed Valentine's Day. Jim was fairly certain the Vulcan would have considered the Terran holiday to be completely illogical. Not to mention...the main gift given for said holiday tended to make him tipsy. 

"Did you clean your room like I asked?" Jim inquires, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel impatiently. 

"Yup." David replies, folding his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out towards the floor. He was still rather short for his age, only coming up to Jim's stomach in fact. But he had finally passed the weight limit for his booster seat and Jim had taken him out for ice cream on that joyous day they had pitched the damn thing into the give-away pile. 

"And your bathroom is clean?" Jim prompts, practically feeling David rolling his eyes from the back seat. 

"Dad, I cleaned it yesterday. Remember?" 

"Humor your old man." Jim mutters, groaning as they run into traffic on highway two-eighty. But it's not like the back roads would have been any better, not in the middle of late afternoon.

They finally get to campus and Jim collects his coat from the seat beside him, scrambling out of the car alongside David. 

"What if he's already here?" David asks his tone laced with frantic worry, "What if we missed him?" 

"Where would he go, David? He knows we're coming to pick him up. We're taking him home, after all." Jim says with a half-smile, ruffling David's rain-dampened hair as they scurry across Starfleet Headquarters grounds toward the Transportation Center. He pulls out his I.D. card attached to a lanyard in his back pocket, tapping it against the access gate to get into the side door of the building, bypassing the departure and pick-up zones to save time. He holds the door open for David before steering his son by the shoulder down the hall, David's smaller legs having to hurry just to keep up with Jim's impatient strides. 

"I don't know, maybe he'd take a cab?" David asks, running his fingers through his hair and making Jim realize for the second time this week that he had forgotten to give David a haircut. 

"I don't think so kid, he knows I pulled you out of school today for this. Holy shit..." Jim slowed to a walk and then to a stop outside Gate 13, staring at the massive crowd already gathered and waiting for the disembarking crew-members of the starship _Enterprise_. He catches David's shoulder again before his son can disappear into the crowd of people swarming around them, strangers with faces buried in their communicators or lugging baggage about, others reuniting or saying goodbye to loved ones. 

Wiping a hand down over his mouth and chin, Jim scratches the light stubble under his jaw and grimaces, "Lets hang back buddy, Spock can find us outside all _that_ , I'm sure," Jim mumbles, wincing inwardly when he sees holo-cameras flash and voices raised to be heard over the din of so many people. Jim estimates the crowd to be at least two-hundred strong, and even though the receiving hallway is large, people were standing pushed close together the closer one got to the doors leading in from the tarmac. 

"How?" David asks, tipping his head back against Jim's stomach to peer up at him, Jim's hands settling on his shoulders lightly. 

"Hm?" Jim starts; losing his train of thought as he backtracks to the last thing he remembers his son saying. "It's alright David, he'll find us." He reassures the boy, confident in his words as a sudden feeling of longing overtakes him. Jim narrows his eyes, peering at the mingling faces and seeing a reporter or two trying to press their way into the front of the crowd. God, the reporters. Was Spock being waylaid with their importuning questions? 

In the first year Jim had moved back to San Francisco, he had gotten a renewed taste of the media and its backlash. His return to Starfleet was public knowledge, although what he currently did for Starfleet however, was not. The speculations had flown and Jim could only imagine how very boring news had become for them to nit-pick and start rumors about his new career. David had been the one most affected by it, the kids at his school always pestering him or teasing him about having a 'quitter' for a father. It would seem that the world would never forget that Jim had walked away from his captaincy. To many, it made him seem weak, but to those who knew Jim, it only made him seem stronger. 

The awkward prickling and agitation in his head is intense enough to sever his line of thought. Dragging his gaze away from a woman's face that he had unknowingly fixated on he finds himself lifting his eyes in time to see one familiar face slip through the crowd. Jim becomes very still as his eyes transmit to his brain what he is seeing; what he is seeing is _Spock_. His lips part but Spock's name dies there as he watches him glance around the faces nearest to him and the rapid shift of his brown eyes is enough to arm Jim with his courage and his voice again, "Hey." He doesn’t know if he has spoken loud enough to be heard over the cacophony in the terminal, but when Spock's head whips around and their eyes lock, he is reminded again of how keen his counterpart's hearing truly is. 

Much like he had done, Spock freezes and Jim can’t help the wide, shit-eating grin that spreads across his lips when he identifies the emotion flitting through those deep brown eyes; shock.

" _Mr. Spock!_ " David's voice cuts through their moment of silent communion, bringing Jim's awareness back to their surroundings as his son dashes forward from under his hands, leaping at Spock with boyish exuberance before Jim could forestall him. However, Spock doesn’t recoil, rather he affectionately returns the embrace to the best of his ability as David hobbles him, thin arms wrapped tightly around his legs. 

Jim has a moment to think while Spock and David converse lightly, David's excitement bubbling over at seeing his Vulcan friend again. Jim feels oddly self-conscious standing there in the throng of people milling about and he quickly takes stock of himself. Does he really look so different as to be shocking to Spock? They had seen each other three days ago over sub-space transmission, which meant the picture had been grainy at best. But maybe he had put on some weight? His hair was longer but still neatly kept to Starfleet regulation standards, his sideburns whittled down to points once again. 

Coming back to himself and realizing his awkward distance from his son and Spock, Jim shoves his hands deep into back pockets and walks slowly towards the pair that make up his odd little family. He can feel his lips twitching, just bordering on the edge of laughter as he takes in his partner half bent towards David and listening as the child boasts about his growth spurt. 

Spock looks...the same, for the most part actually. Jim had taken some small pleasure in noticing a new wrinkle in Spock's brow when the Vulcan frowned, but that could be attributed to the levels of stress on the Enterprise. It was weirdly comforting to Jim that he wasn't the only one looking a fraction more aged. If not aged, then at least more mature. However, even if those brown eyes did seem to harden over the past few years, they were soft now as they gazed down at David. 

"My turn," Jim butts in with a smirk, shuffling a half step closer and lifting his arms to twine around Spock's shoulders. He hadn't exactly planned on embracing Spock; though his urges had supplied many different scenarios in his mind over the last three days. He supposed leaping onto Spock wouldn't have been a good alternative either, nor would kissing him in the middle of a crowded terminal have been justified. So a hug it is, and he holds on tightly to Spock as every sense memory of their time together three years ago comes surging to the forefront of his mind and imagination. God, but Spock felt exactly the same in his arms, wrapped up tight as Jim feels his body begin to shake with the emotions he is apparently having a hard time swallowing back. Jim tells himself that he won’t cry, that he refuses to do. But when he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, savoring how their bodies still seem to fit against one another, his lashes are wet with tears held just barely at bay. 

"Welcome home, Spock." Jim murmurs, hating how his voice almost cracks and blinking rapidly over Spock's shoulder, knowing that when he pulls away, he will want to at least seem he isn't a step away from having a good cry. But the relief is hard to deny, feeling almost as intense and exhausting as it had when his console at home had chimed with Spock's incoming call which had finally explained his delay in returning. With heavy limbs, Jim slowly pulls away and is pleased that Spock's hands seem even more reluctant to withdraw than his own as they separate again. When a reporter startles them out of their shared reverie, Jim feels a huge knot of annoyance form in the pit of his stomach, resulting in his hands curling into fists at his side. He doesn’t think anyone can really blame him for this public admission of his and Spock’s relationship; after all, Spock hasn’t been the one dealing with the media's bullshit for the past four years. Besides, Spock isn’t denying it and he doesn't seem all too bothered by Jim's blatant disregard for their agreed vow of public restraint. 

 

"What do you think?" Jim asks as the three of them roll up the driveway of their house, Jim and David's home for two years, and Spock's new place of residence now as well. Glancing at the Vulcan beside him, Jim presses the button for the garage door opener clipped to his sun visor, the vehicles slow creep forward giving Spock a moment longer to survey the outside of the abode. His brown eyes sweep over the orange stucco exterior and the tiled steps leading up to the second story front door, lingering over the painted bay windows above them before eventually shifting to regard Jim. 

"It seems adequate." Spock says, but his normal stiffness seems fainter in the light of returning to a home he has yet to explore. 

"Adequate?" Jim echoes, feigning offense, "it's the best dang house in this neighborhood, Spock!" 

"That is what worries me..." Spock intones, though Jim can practically taste the tease in his voice. 

"Afraid of a little city riff-raff, Mr. Spock? My, you'd think a Starship Captain would be braver than that." Jim returns with a smirk, parking the car in its normal spot, just alongside the old C2 Corvette convertible; one of his extracurricular projects. 

"Vulcans do not fear 'riff-raff', Jim." Spock eyes the car as they get out, brushing by its tarp-covered rear fender and casting an arched brow across the sedan's hood at Jim, who is grinning at him.

"What?" Jim spreads his hands, going for innocence. 

"Is this not the same make and model of car you told me your father owned?" Spock asks, shifting the weight of his bags over his shoulder.

"So?" Jim prompts, folding his arms over his chest, keys jangling in his hand. 

"The same one you drove over the edge of a cliff?" 

"Well, not the same one..." Jim says sheepishly, amusement shining in his blue eyes. "I needed something to tinker on when I couldn't focus on work, it only seemed right that I fixed up something I once destroyed, right?" 

Spock's features transform minutely, shifting into one of acceptance as he gives a nod, following both Jim and David up the garage stairs, "Logical." He agrees. 

Upstairs, the trio emerges into the hallway, the front door to their left. Jim motions in both directions as he speaks, "To my left, the living room...to my right, David's bedroom and bathroom, as well as the office." 

Spock's brows lift marginally, but he takes it all in as he strolls behind Jim, following his partner into the living room where a big picture mirror hangs over the old brick fireplace, a reminder of the one in the old farmhouse in Riverside. Though, Jim notices his attention stray from the simple furniture, finding and hesitating on the one foreign piece in the whole room; his Vulcan lyre. It sits in a place of honor on an end table in the corner by the sofa, propped carefully on its stand. 

"David keeps asking me if he can learn how to play it but I didn't want him to accidentally break it. I've no clue if you could even buy a replacement..." Jim murmurs, watching his lover walk towards the familiar instrument and reach out towards its strings. He slides his fingers over the curved wood almost reverently, no doubt noticing how well Jim had done to keep it polished. 

"I am...flattered." Spock murmurs, finally turning to regard his companions and glancing down at David's interested expression, "though, it is a difficult instrument to master."

"I could do it." David argues lightly, "now that you're here to teach me." His smile rivals the radiance of a sunbeam.

"Uh, the dining room is over that way." Jim motions with a thumb over his shoulder, deciding to get his son off the topic of learning Vulcan instruments for now, "And through there, the kitchen." Spock follows him through with David trailing at the rear, their steps sliding over old wood floors steeped with history. The kitchen is simple but up to date, save for the gas stove sat off to their right, just three steps away from the updated replicator installed in the wall across from the refrigerator. 

"Should I change for dinner?" David asks, seeming hopeful that they will be eating soon. 

"Sure, son, but nothing too fancy," Jim says, leading Spock with a tip of his head towards the stairs on the other end of the kitchen. "Our room is up here..." He says with a secretive smile that makes Spock's eyes narrow at him a little. Grinning, Jim passes up the stairs and turns at the top, passing a table housing a potted plant and several framed pictures of he and David to open the solitary door next to it. 

Jim doesn't speak as he walks into the bedroom and when he turns to look at his partner, it's to find Spock studying the open door to the walk-in closet to his right. "Oh, I hope you uh, don't mind." Jim shuffles, feeling stupid for seeming like some idiotic teenager, hemming and hawing over his words nervously. But he has to admit, he is a little nervous. What would being back in Spock's company be like? Would there be awkwardness? He is worried there will be awkwardness. 

"You have placed my clothes in your closet." Spock says with what Jim perceives to be surprise. Spock flips on the light in the closet, his eyes roaming over the hangers neatly storing the articles of clothing he had left behind in his apartment. Reaching out, he idly fingers the sleeve of one grey sweater Jim had become particularly fond of. Jim doesn’t mention that he used to wear it around the house. 

"Our closet," Jim corrects him, leaning his shoulder up against the doorway and folding his arms across his chest. "I hope I didn't, you know...mess anything up." He motions with one hand towards the stacked black shirts and pants in their drawers. 

Sliding his bags down off his shoulder, Spock sets them soundlessly onto the carpeted floor, turning to pin Jim with his stare. They don't move; the two of them caught like two gazelles in the eye of a predator. Only the predator is the force of desire that Jim feels pooling low in his belly. He swallows straightening up slowly and watching Spock's eyes follow his movements, sweeping over him as if with new found appreciation. When Spock's hand lifts from his side, two fingers outstretched in an open invitation for intimacy, Jim obliges him. 

Spock's eyes flicker shut, as if in some great relief when Jim's fingers glide over his own, caressing down the back of his hand in the way he remembers the Vulcan enjoyed and watching those slanted brows knit together with some restrained emotion. He can't exactly capture the feeling, even though he is touching Spock, and Jim realizes again that just because they are linked, doesn't mean their connection is always a two-way street. Jim had fantasized what a meld with Spock would be like after three long years of change and separation. A huge part of him had been terrified, because what if he discovered Spock’s feelings had changed? What if Spock had grown apathetic of their relationship? Watching Spock's features rearrange themselves painfully now, Jim can't imagine that the Vulcan's regard for him has cooled. 

Brown eyes slant open beautifully in the next moment and Jim's uncertain thoughts are banished, his fingers curling around Spock's wrist and tugging him a half step forward. Spock meets him half way and their lips merge together like a trembling home-coming. Jim had forgotten how warm and soft his Vulcan's lips were, how pliant and yet insistent they could be under his own when they had snatched moments to share with one another, locked in an embrace and swollen with affection. A place in the center of Jim's chest aches now as his hands rise to frame the edges of Spock's face, feeling Spock give over into a heaving shudder at the feelings he is no doubt gleaning through Jim's touch. 

Tentative fingers find their way up Jim's arms, curling behind his shoulder blades and drawing him in that final short distance until one warm body collides with another in the open doorway to a ridiculously neat walk-in closet. Jim swallows a moan, the painful tenderness of Spock's roaming lips a harbinger for his desperate arousal and his need for the single being in all existence whom he had lived a small eternity without. 

"Can we go to Zero Zero?" David's excited, questioning voice from the stairwell cuts suddenly through the moment like a sharp knife and Jim startles, causing Spock to tense. He takes a step back a moment later, turning towards his clothes lined up next to Jim's on the racks of the closet while Jim turns around and tries to look nonchalant leaning up against the wall outside the closet door. But David is no fool and when the child rounds the corner of the door into the bedroom, he casts his father a suspicious look. 

"Uh, sure," Jim responds, swallowing and trying not to fidget, though...what does he have to be ashamed of? It isn't like David isn't aware of the relationship between he and Spock. However, flaunting it in front of his son isn't exactly something he's used to either, at least not anymore. In the three years he and Spock had been apart, Jim obviously hadn't dated anyone else and he was starting to feel extremely out of practice on the romantic side of things. His stealth skills were seriously impaired; he blamed Spock. 

"What are you guys doing...?" David asks slowly, his eyes rolling towards the walk-in closet where Spock is idly fingering the sleeves of his sweaters, as if he had forgotten what they felt like; unlikely to say the least. 

"Are you ready to go? Let Spock get changed out of his uniform and then we'll be ready to go, okay?" Jim steps towards the bedroom door and opens it a little wider, an obvious dismissal his son looks smug about as he saunters out into the hallway and back down the stairs. Jim slumps against the door as he closes it, eyeing Spock as the Vulcan comes slinking out of the closet with a sweater and pants in his hands. 

"Smooth." Jim mutters, casting his fingers back through his hair roughly and scratching at his scalp. "What happened to that Vulcan hearing of yours?" Jim asks with a smirk, goading his lover into an affronted response. 

Spock sniffs, dragging his uniform shirt off over his head and laying it out on the end of the bed. No, their bed, Jim corrects himself. "Your heart was beating too loudly for me to have noticed the approach of the child." 

Jim blanches, a shocked expression transforming his face as he scoffs, a hand to his chest, " _My_ heart? Yours was pretty loud too, Spock." He snorts, grinning and forcing himself to turn away from the image of Spock changing his clothes, knowing that if he were to give into that lecherous desire to stare, they wouldn't be going out to eat. 

Instead, he walks into their en suite and flicks on the light, approaching the sink and cupping a hand under the faucet, splashing cool water down over his flushed face until his reflection looks semi-normal once again. Spock joins him a moment later, dressed in that same grey sweater Jim thought was cozy and a pair of dark black jeans. He has his toiletries bag in hand and he sets it on the back of the sink, unzipping it and fishing out a comb he uses to fix what Jim had mussed of his sleek, black cap. Jim smirks at the image, even though it feels entirely surreal. In the three months he and Spock had shared a house, in fact, shared a bed, they didn't often share a bathroom like this. At least, not for actual progress in getting ready for the day. That reminds him of another point he needs to mention, and he grimaces as his eyes slide toward the shower stall to his left. "Uh, about the shower..." 

Spock straightens from his personal grooming, following Jim's stare to the glass enclosure, his shoulders visibly sinking a fraction. "I'm sorry," Jim continues apologetically, "This place isn't wired for sonics, and I've been looking into getting it done, but between work and David's sports practices and making minor fixes to the rest of the house, it just seemed like... a very small thing to me, I suppose." He finishes defensively. 

"I do not...abhor water, James." Spock murmurs, setting his comb back in his bag and turning away from the shower. 

"That's bullshit." Jim snorts, grinning at the reflection of his lover in the mirror, "and you know it. I watched you _cringe_ away from the spray when we shared a shower." _Over three years ago, damn,_ he thinks to himself. 

"I did not cringe." Spock argues, lifting his chin at an attempt to keep his dignity.

"Okay fine, you _shied away_ from it." Jim laughs, reaching out for Spock's toiletry bag and upending it, scattering the few things Spock uses in his morning routine across the back of the sink, right next to Jim's products. He tosses the bag toward the edge of the tub and turns a wicked grin at Spock. "There, now you're all unpacked." He chuckles at Spock's almost eye-roll, feeling the affectionate exasperation rolling in waves off of him. 

"If you are sufficiently attired, shall we take David to dinner now?" Spock asks, snagging a black pair of leather shoes from the closet and bending gracefully before the door to slide them onto his feet. 

Dragging his eyes off Spock's body, Jim nods and curses himself inwardly; they would have time to make out like two hot rabbits but now was not the time. _Later_ , he promised himself, later he would peel back that outer shell of his Vulcan and feel that connection, hold him in body and in mind. The thought made his mouth go dry and he coughed to mask his discomfort, tugging his leather jacket off a hanger in the closet and shrugging it on. "Yeah, let's go." He smiles, urging Spock out the bedroom door and down the stairs. 

 

At dinner, as well as on the way to Zero Zero, David keeps up a constant stream of chatter, talking about the various high-points of his young life that Spock had missed out on. To Spock's credit, he does seem genuinely interested, and when they enter the rustic restaurant and are seated up in the high balcony overlooking the bar below, Spock moves his chair closer to David from across the table. Jim is left smiling and chuckling at David's enthusiasm, feeling it rubbing off on him as well as his son describes to Spock how Jim had taught him how to ride his bike. 

"I fell a lot..." David says with a small frown as he is unwrapping his silverware from the paper napkin next to his plate, keeping his clever hands busy as he speaks. "Scraped up my knee pretty bad too, I thought I'd need crutches." He laughs, getting the reaction he had no doubt been hoping for as Spock's brows lift towards his hairline and his gaze shifts towards Jim. 

"You let him learn such a dangerous sport?" 

"Dangerous?" Jim chuckles, "no more dangerous than simply walking Spock. He could fall down then too." He shrugs a little, taking a sip of his water. 

"Do you know how to ride a bike, Mr. Spock?" David asks, folding his hands neatly in his lap, though his nervous energy finds another outlet by way of swinging his feet beneath his chair. 

"I do not." Spock replies, causing a shocked look to transform David's curious features. 

"Why not?" He asks, seemingly floored by this information. 

"The mode of transportation seems unnecessary." Spock's reply brings their ice-skating endeavor to Jim's mind and he hides his smile behind a bite of buttered bread.  
"But it's fun!" David argues, perhaps trying to convince Spock that he ought to learn. 

"We wouldn't want Spock to crack the pavement if he fell though, would we?" Jim comments; winning a sharp look from Spock for his teasing. David only seems more confused, probably not really remembering Spock's mishap on the ice three years ago. 

They eat their dinner in companionable conversation, dominated mostly by David's stories, prompted entirely by Spock's gentle questioning until Jim asks for the check and they get up to leave. 

On the drive home, David is quiet for the first time all night and Jim tilts the rear-view mirror to get a better look at his son in the backseat, smiling to himself when he sees David's heavy-lidded eyes directed out his window. It seems all the talk had tired him out. In the passenger seat beside him, Spock is also having a more introspective moment, his hands folded loosely in his lap and his head tilted towards his window. That was just fine; Jim was content just to bask in the novel idea of having both of his most favorite people in the car with him. Of course, there were the missing friends from his bridge crew to consider. But that would have to come later... 

Back at home Jim nudges David up the stairs in the garage first, lightly tapping his son's shoulder in the direction of his bedroom. "Why don't you get around for bed, sport." 

"Already?" David whines, "It's only eight!" 

"And your bedtime is at nine, so if you want to spend as much time with Spock as you can before bed and not be late for your date with your pillow; you had better get moving." Jim says, but his tone is gentle, lacking the stern bite his step-father Frank's voice would have carried. 

Reluctantly, David trudges down the hall to his room, closing the door behind him. Jim shrugs his jacket off, walking into the living room to lay it over the arm of the sofa and taking Spock's as well while the Vulcan strays toward the bay windows in the room, his hands loosely clasped behind him. Jim doesn’t need eyes in the back of his head to know what Spock is considering out of the corners of his eyes; the Vulcan lyre. 

It isn’t ten minutes before Jim hears the first haunting strains of the instrument being plucked to life in the living room as he stands at the kitchen island with the components for David's school lunch spread out on the counter before him. The wavering sounds make him smile, their vibration sparking a few memories from aboard the Enterprise, mainly about when Uhura had sung along with his playing in the mess hall. At the time, Jim had been surprised the Vulcan would play an instrument one could call 'beautiful' and 'haunting' in such a public place, but he later realized Spock had been endeavoring to boost crew morale, especially since he and Jim hadn't exactly been getting along all that well yet. 

With David's lunch packed safely in the fridge, Jim passes through the dining room and peeks into the living room, seeing Spock sitting cross-legged on the wood floor, his back to the room with his gaze directed out the window, the instrument cradled reverently in his lap. He plucks, seemingly without direction, over the strings, but Jim can pick out subtle sounds strung together like a melody and he wonders if these are solely Vulcan songs Spock has memorized. A few minutes later, David ventures out of his room in sweats and an old t-shirt, his bare feet padding lightly on the floor and shuffling on the rug as he approaches Spock with interest. His child's curiosity makes him bold, far bolder than Jim would have been as he watches David slip forward to sit on the floor beside Spock, watching his fingers move over the strings of the lyre. 

He doesn't speak, for which Jim must commend his son, as he watches Spock play with the notes melting into a melody. Jim doesn't realize he's holding his breath until his lungs burn and he lets out a soft sigh, his hand brushing down the doorway of the dining room as he turns and makes his way down the hall to David's bedroom. There, he turns down his son's bed and switches on his nightlight by the door, reflecting flickering pricks of stars across half the ceiling. He closes the blinds over the locked door leading out into the backyard, pushing a few toys out of his way with his feet as he listens to Spock playing. 

Come nine o'clock, David protests softly when Jim motions to him, telling him without words what time it is. Spock's playing ceases softly and he turns to look over his shoulder at Jim, a newfound calmness in those brown eyes. "Shall I read to you?" He asks David a beat later, and David almost seems taken aback because for the past year and a half, Jim had been letting David read to himself before bedtime. 

"Yeah!" David smiles, clamoring to his feet and almost running clear past Jim, if it wasn't for Jim's hand shooting out to catch his arm and bring him back around. 

"Hey, where's my goodnight?" Jim asks with a gentle smile, smoothing his son's hair and rubbing his back as David slings his arms around his waist for a short hug. 

"Goodnight!" David chirps, scrambling down the hallway towards his bedroom. Spock rises at a slower pace, Jim notices, as if he might be slightly sore and Jim watches him replace the lyre to its proud stand on the table. 

"I'm going to shut the house down for the night, is that okay?" Jim asks before his partner can leave the room. 

"I shall join you in a short while." Spock murmurs, giving Jim a short look that sends a thrill up his spine. 

Shutting all the lights off in the house aside from the one on the stairs, Jim goes up to his room--no, their room, and deliberates. Should he run a shower? Did he have time? Deciding that David would most-likely pick a book that would take at least twenty minutes to read, Jim strips his clothes off on his way to the bathroom, leaving them in a messy trail until he slips naked into the shower stall in their bathroom. He doesn't spend long in there, going through the motions before toweling off and wiping the mirror clear. His hair is slicked back over his skull, darker with water staining it and he drags a comb through it haphazardly, feeling at his cheeks and deciding a shave can wait for the morning as he flicks out the light, padding in a towel to the closet to select clean briefs and sleep pants. He's still lightly toweling his hair dry when he hears a sound on the stairs, Spock's tread causing the second from the last step to creak. The sound causes his heart to skip and thunder in his chest anew and he takes a deep breath, a shaking one at that. 

He feels like an idiot, pacing towards the balcony doors in their room and looking out at the night skyline, the jagged shapes of skyscrapers in the distance like terrible teeth. He shakes the bad thought out of his head though when the lights in the room dim and Jim is left staring at his reflection, the pale moon casting a silver glow across the carpet. 

"You can't tell me about what happened to keep you and the _Enterprise_ out there an extra two months, can you?" Jim makes it into a statement, not knowing why he feels he must know. The presence at his back makes him shiver and it's not because of the cold, but rather because of the heat radiating from the Vulcan standing behind his shoulder. Spock's hands slide up his bare arms, sending another tremor through Jim's body, his tumultuous emotions causing Spock to sigh behind him. 

"The information is, regrettably, classified." Spock confirms, his voice pitched low and his breath a warm gust against the back of Jim's neck. A weight settles against the back of Jim's head and in the reflection of the glass, he can see Spock leaning forward to rest his forehead there. 

"Thought so..." Jim mutters, trying not to feel betrayed. He isn't a part of that world anymore and he cannot fault his partner for his restrictions. "Were you hurt? You were moving gingerly downstairs." 

Spock doesn't stiffen as Jim half expects him to, instead he seems to sag a little, his cheek sliding down the back of Jim's head and urging him to turn around. The shadow caused by Jim's head falls across the lower half of Spock's face, his brown eyes illuminated by moonlight and making Jim's breath hitch in his chest. Swallowing thickly, Jim takes a guess, "I'd say ribs but..." 

"There was an...altercation." Spock says carefully, "the issue was resolved and Dr. McCoy healed my injuries." 

"I bet he enjoyed that," Jim mumbles sarcastically, sliding his hands around Spock's hips and bravely inserting his thumbs beneath the hemline of Spock's sweater, feeling the smooth skin stretched over lithe hips. 

"On the contrary," Spock says, missing Jim's sarcasm, "he was very antagonistic throughout the whole process." 

Jim can't help but grin, "did he fuss with your pillows too much?" 

Spock's brow arches, "at least fifteen times, not including the three aborted attempts." 

Laughing softly, Jim lowers his head to rest over Spock's sternum, hearing the distant echo of his lover's heart residing lower in his side. "See? He cares." Jim says with a slow smile, sliding his hands around to link them together at the small of Spock's back, feeling him shudder in his grasp. 

"Now uh," Jim swallows, hating how pathetic he sounds but trying for seductive anyway, "where were we before a hungry child interrupted us?" 

"You wish to return to the closet?" Spock asks, brown eyes catching the moonlight with sparkling amusement. "It may be spacious, and yet it would be rather cramped for more illicit activities." 

Jim can't restrain the bark of laughter that startles out of him, tipping his head back to observe Spock slyly, "I don't intent to 'get back into the closet', Spock. Not since I've come out of it." 

"Hmm, human idioms..." Spock grumbles, not sparing an eye-roll this time that leaves Jim grinning. 

Sliding a foot between Spock's own, Jim leans into his partner a little more and reaches a hand up to curl around the back of Spock's neck, drawing him down into a kiss. The second is no less potent than the first was and Jim finds himself reacting like a hungry adolescent as every feeling in his body surges forward in urgency. He doesn't withhold a groan this time, pleasure shaking down his frame as he gives into this private moment. 

Spock remains on his feet, even with Jim's weight pressing in on him, urging him to back towards the bed. Instead, he brings a hand up to run through Jim's damp hair, disturbing its neat appearance as his palm cradles the base of Jim's skull. His tongue licks lightly forward over Jim's lower lip and when he opens for Spock, the flavor he had come to miss and label as Spock's slides over his tongue, a singularly intoxicating thing to Jim.

Hands twisting in the fabric of Spock's sweater, Jim feels lightheaded when they part, each searching the others expressions for God only knew what; acceptance? Hesitation? Jim hopes he isn’t sending the wrong signals as Spock's brown eyes study his. Jim can't help his mouth running away with him in the silence blooming between them, "I've dreamed of this... _God_ , at least a thousand times." He whispers. 

Spock blinks, but there is no surprise in his expressive gaze, rather a tenderness and fondness that Jim's heart aches for as he learns it is directed at him. "I, too, have frequently imagined this moment and what it might entail." Spock admits, and is rewarded with Jim's impossible smile. 

"I think this is better than anything I could have come up with." Jim murmurs, boldly sliding his hands up the back of Spock's sweater clear up to his shoulder blades, feeling Spock's flesh pebble with goosebumps beneath his fingertips. That single loss of his stately control is enough to burn through Jim and he presses Spock back towards the bed until the Vulcan's knees hit the edge, changing his center of balance and causing his hands to tighten on Jim's arms for added support. 

Peeling Spock's sweater off over his head, Jim tosses it to the floor at his feet and before he allows himself to look over Spock's form, he reaches for the clasp of Spock's jeans, unfastening them and shoving them away impatiently before planting his hand in the center of Spock's chest. Rather than shove the Vulcan, who weighs at least fifty pounds more than Jim, he reaches into his former self and says, "Lay down." His voice is charged with the command, firm and steady as his fingers pulse against Spock's chest, the Vulcan complying as he slips gracefully to sit on the edge of their bed, sliding back on his elbows over the mattress as Jim takes a hold of the bottom edges of his pant legs to fully divest him of them. 

Standing at the edge of the bed, Jim watches as Spock lowers himself fully onto the bed, seemingly at a loss for what to do as Jim just gazes down at him, reaching out to smooth a hand over one pale ankle. Spock folds an arm under his head, though Jim can tell a part of him wants to cringe away and he wonders if Spock is embarrassed. Jim pushes his sleep pants down, stepping out of them and sliding onto the mattress beside Spock in just his briefs. They reach for one another in the same moment, Spock's fingers ghosting over Jim's hip above the waistband of his briefs and curling at his lower back, urging him to roll forward as they meet in the center of the bed. Spock's lips are damp with moisture from his tongue and from their kisses as Jim re-ignites that passion again, curling himself in towards Spock like he is shelter from a storm. 

It takes a shiver from Spock for Jim to remember he forgot to turn up the heat in the house, so he reaches for the blankets under them, dragging them up over their chilled bodies as they settle back against the pillows facing one another. For a while, Jim lets Spock fan the flames of his desire, savoring this precious moment, one he had seriously considered he might never have again, especially during those two months in limbo when he had been utterly terrified Spock was gone. Their lips caress tender flesh, find and mark supple areas of neck and chest that cause both of them to gasp and whisper softly to one another. Jim's voice breaks the silence most often, running out a litany of encouragement and aching promises. 

"Was so scared Spock... so _scared_." He whispers as Spock's lips traverse the slope of his throat, arching his chin up towards the ceiling of the room and skimming his fingertips down over Spock's slender spine. 

"Please, don't leave me again...please." Jim almost begs, his eyes stinging shamefully as he tilts his cheek into Spock's palm, feeling the flickering spark of something entirely more just out of his reach, on the other side of Spock's telepathy; caged inside that beautiful mind. "I know I'm selfish, I know you wouldn't be happy, not truly. The stars...the stars are your calling, always have been and I-- I wish that...I wish-," Jim stammers to a halt as deep eyes lift from their gentle worship of his chest, regarding him firmly. 

" _Hush_ , Jim," Spock murmurs, falling back on the old human form of comfort, leaving Jim wondering at how well it works coming from the Vulcan. 

He swallows past all the words threatening to tumble out of his mouth again, ashamed to find his hands shaking as he cradles Spock's face in them, the Vulcan's lips parting in wonder as their connection strengthens in his mind. Jim reaches for one of Spock's hands, bringing it to his face in silent question and Spock seems to understand as he rises up to brace himself on one elbow, his fingers moving across the points of Jim's face in the manner needed to connect them in the deepest way possible. But just as Spock's mouth opens to form the necessary words, Jim hears the soft and sluggish pattern of steps on the stairs. 

Jim's eyes slam shut as realization and disappointment mingle in his chest. Of course David would be unable to sleep; he hadn't been sleeping well either during the last few weeks when Jim had allowed himself to become truly worried for Spock. Had David had another nightmare? 

Spock stiffens, then withdraws, much to Jim's chagrin as he watches his partner roll away and shift the sheets across them, just as the bedroom door whispers open. A line of light from out in the hall slices across the floor, falling over the end of their bed as David stands just inside it, rubbing his eyes and shuffling, looking sheepish and somewhat embarrassed. 

"Can't sleep?" Jim asks, to which David nods sullenly. 

"I'm sorry...I really tried, I did, I just-" David sniffs and the sound is enough to break through Jim's selfish disappointment.

"C'mere." Jim invites his son, sliding over in the bed until there is enough space on his side for David to climb in. 

Spock arches a brow at him, but doesn't say anything as they all slide under the sheets together, David curling up against Jim's side and pressing his face into Jim's pillow. Sliding an arm under his son, Jim holds him loosely and spares Spock an apologetic glance, but to his credit, Spock no longer seems fazed as he settles in, most obviously to sleep. Jim forces himself to stop thinking about how things would have led to a crescendo if David hadn't interrupted, knowing they'll have time for it later. Kids...tend to get in the way of a lot of things, but Jim would never fault his son for his troubles sleeping. 

"G'night, Dad...g'night, Spock." David mumbles, already sounding drowsy. 

"Goodnight son." Jim whispers, lifting his head to drop a kiss into the messy mop of his son's hair. 

"Sleep well, David." Spock murmurs from his side of the bed, and beneath the blankets, his fingers curl gently around Jim's wrist, thumb stroking rhythmically and easing Jim towards sleep as well, the comforting touch enough to chase the nightmares away for tonight at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think and if you would like to see a loose representation of Jim and Spock's house, I do have pictures! =]


	3. We Three Monsieurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens onto an insomniac and two sleeping humans; just another domestic Thursday in the month of February.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter three, folks! Call me a kid, but I had a lot of fun with this one. As always, a sincere thank you to NWKate for her lovely and faithful beta reading, I take her opinions very seriously. 
> 
> I did have an inspirational song for this chapter, I listened to Clean Bandit's song _'Rather Be'_. Any mistakes made in this chapter are my own, because it means I was too anxious to get it done and posted in order to catch every little thing.  
>  Also...I know I'm cruel, but I'm not sorry! Don't worry, I have plans... <3

Blinking up at the bedroom ceiling, Spock allows himself a second sigh of the night. Next to him, both Jim and David are sound asleep, Jim's hand lingering near his own resting against the mattress. Spock knows the reason why he's still awake, it had also been a problem over three years ago when he had stayed in Iowa; his sleep schedule was off. However, as a Vulcan, he should be able to reset his inner time sense, sleep should be coming easily to him tonight, especially amongst such calming company. In spite of that, no matter how long he lays there with his eyes closed, a small part of him is telling him that he should be on the bridge, as illogical as it may seem. 

It takes him until nearly midnight to give up, slowly rolling away from Jim's form curled close to his, not even stirring as Spock extricates himself from the sheets. He shivers in the cooler air of the room, padding across the floor to the closet where he had left his bags earlier and dragging out a heavy meditation robe folded neatly in the top of one. Sliding it on, he calms under its familiar weight, smoothing the long lapels and straightening the sleeves with determination. He would be getting sleep this night, even if it took meditation to claim it. 

Pausing on the landing outside the bedroom, Spock reconsiders. Truly, this is his first moment alone in just over fifteen hours and Spock lets the heavy mantle of responsibility slide off his shoulders as he gazes out the big picture window in the stairwell, hands loosely clasped before him as he views the attractive little backyard in the darkness of night, shrouded in shadows.

The unfamiliar home is silent around him as Spock turns away from the window, his thoughts already beginning to settle as he adjusts to being out of Jim and David's presence. Normally Spock does not find Jim's chaotic mind intrusive and spending every day amongst vibrant human minds upon the ship had never been particularly difficult for Spock, however spending hours in the direct company of both Jim and David had taken its toll on his mental shields. Not only had the emotional and physical intimacy with Jim cracked his defenses, but David's pure enthusiasm had also served to compromise him and he had found it harder and harder to suppress his own feelings regarding finally being reunited with the two beings he considered family. 

Downstairs, Spock leaves the lights off and finds his way to the home office across from David's bedroom, opening the door to explore the room he had not yet seen. He sees a long desk framed by box shelves along one wall, two chairs tucked in beneath it with Jim's personal console at rest in one space. Books fill the shelves nearly to capacity, but Spock doesn't miss how two shelves remain empty on the opposite wall, waiting like a room kept empty for returning inhabitants. Spock thinks of the books in his bag upstairs, a gift from Jim over three years ago. It would seem logical to house them on these two shelves. 

At the back of the long room, Spock spies a rug and a short, swing-back chair. His feet sink into the plush weave as he approaches, eyes cast over the obvious set up. Had Jim put together this space for Spock's use? His thoughts are confirmed when he sees the mahogany box from his apartment tucked along the windowsill, housing his preferred incense for meditations. Expression softening as he regards the box, he reaches out to lift its hinged lid and selects a fragile stick for burning. It seems right that this home will now smell of the incense his mother once burned in their home on Vulcan. Finding the idol next to the box, he places the incense in its holder at the base and lights it with a match. Wisps of scented smoke immediately begin to rise and Spock leans forward to blow out the flame, tendrils of smoke caressing his cheeks like gentle fingers to soothe his senses. 

Turning to survey the room once more, Spock folds his hands into the sleeves of his robe and surveys the information contained on the walls, stepping closer to a few framed schematics of Jim's designs. He casts his eyes over a framed blueprint and it takes him only a moment to realize it is the bridge of the _Excelsior_ , signed at the bottom in Jim's scrawling handwriting. The fact that Jim had settled into his new job over the past two years really hadn't surprised Spock, rather he felt an illogical sense of pride in his lover for his adaptability, continuously amazed by Jim's skills in engineering to complete work on the Starfleet ships.

Breathing in the spicy rich scent of his incense, Spock is soothed by it and finds himself reasonably prepared to begin meditating. He finds his meditation mat rolled up in the corner next to the chair, picks it up and unrolls it over the plush rug. Sitting on its familiar sweet grass weave, he folds his legs gracefully beneath him and slides his hands up over his knees. With one last observation of the room and assured that he had left the door ajar Spock closes his eyes and attempts to slip into a meditative trance he had been unable to attain for the past few days. Turning his hands over, he allows them to rest palm up over his knees, fingers loosely curled in towards his palms as he begins to regulate his breathing. He focuses on the familiar scent in the room as well as the steady beat of his heart. 

When he opens his eyes an hour later, it's to find he is sufficiently settled, the emotions and thoughts of the past week filed away and neatly cataloged. He had observed the intense emotions he had felt upon being reunited with Jim in particular, as well as the softer and affectionate emotions tailored towards David. To another Vulcan, his ability to accept these emotions as logical would have been unseemly, but Spock had resigned himself over three years ago that in regards to Jim Kirk at least, he could not expect logic in his reactions. He had not shamed himself at least, even if the urge to make a public display had been rather strong. 

Giving himself a moment to adjust to movement again, Spock slowly rises from his stiff position on the floor, his previously healed injuries protesting after such a long period of inactivity. His ribs throb lightly; acting as a reminder of the three he had cracked in an exchange with a mercenary attempting to board the _Enterprise_ by force. Flashes of those memories attempt to bubble up and disrupt his blessed state of calm, but Spock manages to put them aside to sort out another time. 

Leaving the stub of incense to burn out safely in its tray, Spock rolls up his mat and places it back in its corner again before exiting out into the hall. The house is still quiet around him, save for a light tinkling sound he hears in the kitchen. Half expecting to see David out of bed again, perhaps procuring a glass of water. Spock is surprised instead to see the furred rump of the household cat turned in his direction. Snowy startles when she hears Spock's quiet approach, whipping her head around in alarm and dropping a dry kibble out of her mouth and onto the floor. 

"Peace, feline..." Spock murmurs softly as he bends, offering his hand palm down towards the creature and wondering if she remembers his scent. Snowy had obviously been hiding in the house all day, confused by the entrance of a newcomer into her territory and she sniffs Spock's fingers warily before deciding he poses no threat. She rubs her scent across his palm, dragging her cheek and neck over his fingertips, accepting him. When Spock straightens to return upstairs again, she scrambles away from him, darting back down the hall toward David's bedroom to seek solace from his still unfamiliar tread. 

Upstairs, Spock slips his robe off in the closet and hangs it neatly on the rack, finding a pair of comfortable sleep pants and a shirt that will keep him sufficiently warm throughout the night. Climbing back into bed, Spock tries not to make any movements that might wake the two sleeping humans beside him, but Jim still rolls onto his side facing Spock, his hand automatically searching across the mattress and coming to rest on Spock's side, warm and reassuring. Spock swallows, clinging to the calm he had achieved in meditation to keep from thinking about the tumultuous string of emotions he had experienced earlier that evening in Jim's company. 

He eventually drifts, lulled by the sounds of breathing in the room and the warmth of Jim's hand pressing in through his shirt. A wave of contentment threatens to overwhelm him as he lays there, letting thoughts slip away like warm sand through his fingers; the sensation feeling like returning to one's harbor called home. 

 

Spock starts awake, momentarily disoriented by the sound shrieking through the room. He is immediately wide awake and locates the source, finding it to be the alarm set on the chronometer next to the bed. Quickly, he shuts it off, ears still ringing from the jarring noise. 

Turning his head, he notices Jim is still dead to the world, face pressed against his pillow, but between them, David is stirring. Somehow during the night David had managed to circumvent his father, wedging himself between Spock and Jim. He stretches now, his head rolling toward Spock's shoulder as he yawns and rubs his eyes. When he notices Spock watching him, he smiles and is about to speak, but Spock forestalls his words with a finger held to his own lips, directing the boy's gaze towards his resting father. So together, they slip from the bed, too awake now to sleep again. A small, illogical pang of jealousy flits through Spock's mind when he regards his lover still blissfully unaware of the world around him. 

Out in the hall, Spock asks David quietly, "What was the alarm set for?" 

"Mn?" David, still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, blinks foggily up at him before answering, "oh, it's his alarm for getting up to wake me for school." 

"Ah, I see." Spock replies, following David down the stairs and into the kitchen. "What time are you to be at school?" 

"Uh, six-thirty." David responds, trudging down the hall towards his bedroom. 

Spock is left to the familiar pattern of getting David prepared for school. He had done it quite often, at least to some extent, when he had been staying in Iowa with Jim and David. He moves to the fridge, finding items that David might eat for a morning meal. At least David is of an age to get dressed by himself now and Spock finds the responsibility of putting peanut butter on toast and milk over cereal to be a simple task. David is apparently an easy child to please, because when he emerges from the bathroom later looking combed and refreshed, he doesn’t complain about Spock's breakfast choices for him and eats his toast, apples, and cereal swiftly enough to reveal his appetite. 

"Is there anything else I must help you...attend to before school?" Spock blinks, uncertain of the routine now that David is older. Is his backpack already organized? 

"Who's going to take me?" David asks, "should I go wake up dad?" 

"No, I shall drive you there in his stead." Spock declines, taking David's dishes to the sink and then going back upstairs to change into proper attire. In their bedroom, Jim is still asleep, although he has rolled to the other side of the bed, seeming to seek the warmth in the sheets left by David and Spock. 

Selecting clothes out of the drawers in the closet, Spock carries them quietly into the bathroom and changes there, utilizing his tooth brush and comb before feeling presentable enough to leave the house. Returning toward the kitchen, he finds David sitting in the living room using his father's PADD, playing a game involving obnoxious sounding birds launched through the air at precarious wooden structures. "Are you ready to depart?" Spock asks him, picking up the child's bag from where it rests against the side of the sofa, holding it out to David as he puts the PADD aside. "Where is your jacket?" 

"Oh!" David brushes past him in the hall, bounding toward his room and returning with a navy blue sweater half on, shrugging his arms through the sleeves and taking his bag from Spock. Together they plod down the stairs into the garage, and Spock belatedly realizes that perhaps he should have left Jim a note before leaving with David. But he has his comm on him and if Jim wakes concerned, he could always call. 

With the keys which had been left on the foyer table in his hand, Spock unlocks the sedan but realizes his error when climbing into the driver's seat; he is not registered in the facial recognition system. The stiff male voice comes through the front speakers saying, "Access denied; unauthorized entry. Please recite access code or exit the vehicle. Alarm will sound in one minute, fifteen seconds." 

Spock freezes, the keys clasped lightly in his hand as he regards the A.I. system before him, glancing up into the rear-view mirror at David for assistance. "David, do you know your father's access code?" 

David pauses in the backseat, leaning over the driver's seat to peer at the view screen with a confused and somewhat worried expression. "Um, maybe?" 

"It would be preferable if you remembered sooner rather than later, David; hopefully before we wake the neighborhood with the alarm system." Spock intones, his voice firm, silently commanding David to search through his memory for this information. 

"Uh, uh..." Squeezing his eyes shut, David thinks rapidly for a few moments while Spock's eyes stay glued to the countdown displayed on the dashboard before him. "Oh! Sierra, papa, oscar, charlie, kilo!" 

"Access granted." The A.I. says coolly and Spock relaxes a little as the engine starts, the car vibrating beneath them. With an arched brow, Spock glances over his shoulder at David, "did your father use the NATO phonetic alphabet to spell out my name for the security code to his car?" 

"What?" David blinks, "Is that what it means?" 

Shaking his head minutely, Spock responds to the A.I. as it prompts him for their destination, pressing the button above him to open the garage door. "Junipero Serra Elementary School," Spock recalls from David’s conversation the night before.

Together they ride in silence as Spock uses the gravitational positioning system to find David's school. He pulls up along the curb outside the imposing building and David leans over the front seats to grin at Spock. "Thank you for the ride! Will you pick me up too?" 

"We shall see." Spock says softly, watching David clamor out of the back door and scurry across the front lawn, past the open gates onto the school grounds with his bag slapping against his back. Before pulling out into traffic, Spock consults his comm for any messages and when he finds none, he feels satisfied that Jim must still be asleep. 

When he returns to the house, he finds his hypothesis to be proven correct when he ascends to the upstairs bedroom to find Jim rolled haphazardly in the sheets, the pillows a mess about him. It would seem Jim has become a rather restless sleeper in their time apart. 

In the bathroom, Spock removes his clothes and eyes the shower stall in the corner, knowing that in order to be presentable he must utilize the unit, even if the thought of getting entirely wet does not sound pleasant. Sighing, he ignores the thought in the back of his mind that Jim had been right to accuse him of disliking water, but he is determined to prove capable of flexibility in adapting to his new situation. 

Ducking under the spray, Spock cards his fingers back through his hair and looks around the stall. During his time on the _Enterprise_ , Spock has only ever taken sonic showers, so such things as soaps and hair products were unnecessary. However, given his current situation, Spock finds himself reaching for Jim's shampoo. He pops the cap and freezes as the scent curls through the hot steam of the shower, bringing with it distraction. A wave of uncontrollable longing shifts through Spock as he shudders and hesitates before pouring a small amount of the viscous solution out into his palm. He knows its scent will only serve to distract him throughout the day but what other choice does he have? 

Washing himself clean with Jim's personal products, Spock leaves the shower stall smelling of Jim. It causes some unidentifiable emotion to pool inside Spock, thick and heavy, forcing his attention to drift as he dries himself off, rubbing the towel over his ears for longer than strictly necessary until he is convinced that they are dry. 

He slips a pair of clean briefs on for warmth, standing in the curling tendrils of steam before the mirror to comb his hair into its usual style. A knock at the door interrupts him and Spock halts his actions, his hands raised in the middle of fussing with a cowlick at the back of his head. The bathroom door opens and Jim's groggy face inserts itself between the door and the jamb. "Spock?" Jim's voice is rough from sleep and his gaze is twisted up in confusion as he squints and blinks under the harsh lights of the bathroom. "What happened to...my alarm?" Jim asks. 

Spock is about to explain when Jim's eyes suddenly lock wide open, set firmly on Spock's mostly nude form poised in front of the sink. A burning crackle of tangible energy surges from Jim to Spock as they regard one another, Spock's gaze becoming somewhat nervous as Jim stares. He knows he needs to speak, to say something, but he finds it hard to break that thick silence between them as Jim's eyes wander down his frame with obvious interest. That look stirs something inside Spock; something he hasn’t felt for over three years. He swallows; trying to crush his nervousness into a controllable cube of feeling in the back of his mind. 

"I ended the device's alarm this morning at five-thirty. When you did not wake, I decided to take it upon myself to ready David for school." Spock is somewhat surprised that his voice emerges normal and steady, not giving away the state of his too rapidly beating heart. 

Jim slides past the door and into the bathroom, his earlier question seemingly forgotten; bringing with him a chilled breeze from the bedroom. His eyes sweep up over Spock's chest toward his face, lingering on his lips before finally reaching his eyes. "You...took David to school?" 

"I did." Spock replies immediately, standing very still with his hand propped on the edge of the sink and the other held between them as if forgotten, the comb idle in his fingers. Jim reaches for it, sliding the plastic tool from Spock's grasp and tossing it back onto the edge of the sink without removing his gaze from Spock. 

"Did you break into my car?" Jim asks, an amused glint in his impassioned blue eyes, a brow flickering up anticipating Spock's reply. 

"I did not force entry into the vehicle, I used your keys." Spock explains, casting Jim a smug look of his own as his partner folds his arms across his chest in a challenging stance. 

"And the access code?" Jim inquires, though a slight flush begins to form high on his cheeks, realizing that he's asked a question he doesn't really want an answer to much too late. 

"Ah, yes, David was quick enough to remember the access code, so we did not wake the entire neighborhood. But I did discover something," Spock says, picking up his sonic shaver and turning it on, it's quiet hum accenting his words as he brings it to his cheek, eradicating the light stubble that had begun to shadow his features. "You are far more sentimental than I first supposed you to be." 

"What?" Jim snaps, feigning offense, "I don't know what you're talking about." He brushes past Spock, reaching into the shower stall to turn on the water. He pauses with a glance at Spock and a second at his line of products inside the stall. "Did you use my shampoo?" 

"Do not attempt to change the subject," Spock replies, lifting his chin to shave the stubble off his throat, "you spelled my name out in the former _North Atlantic Treaty Organization_ 's phonetic alphabet system." 

Jim rolls his eyes, shucking his sleep pants and leaving them in a puddle on the floor, "So? It's not widely used anymore." 

"Exactly, which means you had to have read about it somewhere." Spock prods. 

"I like old military novels, so what?" Jim shrugs, "it doesn't change the fact that you used my shampoo!" He laughs over the rushing hiss of the spray as he steps into the shower, his briefs discarded on the floor behind him. Spock very pointedly does not look, at least not fully, though he cannot help the view he gets from his peripheral vision as he continues to shave in the fogged reflection of the mirror. 

He is somewhat surprised however, when Jim steps out of the shower less than five minutes later, his military precision in his morning habits still exactly the same as they had been on the _Enterprise_. The notion is somewhat...endearing. Even if it does put Spock at a disadvantage as Jim emerges flushed and entirely too wet from the shower stall next to him. Instead of picking up a towel right away, Jim sets his eyes on Spock's side profile, his gaze boring into Spock, daring him to return the stare as water slides down his naked body.

"Christ, Spock... would you look at me?" Jim finally asks, his voice hushed in the steam around them, eyes searching Spock for...what? Discomfort? Spock could never manage such a reaction toward Jim Kirk. 

Setting his sonic shaver down, Spock turns on the faucet in the sink and rinses the particles of stubble off his cheeks, straightening up and wiping his face on the hand towel before he finally caves under Jim's heavy stare. He looks, and what he sees isn't all that different from what he had known and cherished three years ago. Jim is still a little stocky, built more robustly in the shoulders and chest than in the rest of his physique, but his legs still show signs of strong muscle that Spock knows for a fact is indicative that Jim is a runner. He is a little thinner than Spock remembers, and seeing what Jim had eaten last night, he understood why that was, Jim's appetite had probably shrank in the time of their separation. Never in the time he had known Jim Kirk had the man simply ordered a salad, that is until Spock had witnessed the strange event over dinner.

"Thank you for taking David to school," Jim murmurs, but given his soft expression, Spock doubts that his thoughts are revolving entirely around his son. His hand reaches out toward Spock and smooths over his side, just above his rapidly contracting heart. Jim's fingers are hot from the shower and they skim up over Spock's ribs, eliciting a shiver from him. 

"Jim..." Spock swallows, licks his lips and watches Jim's eyes catch the movement, seemingly mesmerized as they both unconsciously lean towards one another. Jim's arms curl around to Spock's back as he steps closer, Spock's hands tracing down the bold curve of Jim's shoulders as his flushed face tips up to look at him. Together, they feel their bodies tense with that same desperation to know one another again, to feel one another as they have before, and to fill the emptiness that the other has left behind in their absence. 

Jim's lips are soft and pliant beneath Spock's as he gives in to the need for acceptance, for love and belonging from this singular human leaning against him. Spock can feel Jim melt against his frame, as if Spock has released some great well of strain in the man as they kiss, Spock finding himself backed up against the edge of the sink and entirely enthralled in the exploration of smooth, warm flesh beneath his fingertips. So much bare skin is somewhat overwhelming to him as every touch brings with it a flash of emotion from Jim, the predominant feeling being that of desire. 

"God, Spock," Jim groans, sliding his lips down Spock's neck and gripping his shoulder blades in both hands, "I want to feel you, all of you, now that we're finally alone." Jim murmurs, words tinged with desperate longing as his lips pull at the skin of Spock's throat, sending a shudder down his spine. A hand glides down over Spock's hip and he shifts against Jim, a trembling pleasure shaking through them both as his movements ignite a hotter fire between them. 

Heated hands caress bare flesh from back to thigh, continuing on a slow circuit as they mold themselves together in the middle of the bathroom; Jim's breath comes heavy and fast past his lips and gusts over Spock's flesh, causing it to tighten and pebble at the tease. Jim groans when Spock fits a hand over the curve of his backside, pulling him closer still until his partner must fully rest his weight against Spock, allowing him to be supported. 

That is when they both hear it, an insistent buzzing from the other room; Jim's comm vibrating across the nightstand with an incoming call. Jim actually curses this time, his forehead dropping onto Spock's shoulder in defeat. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" He hisses, groaning and pushing away from Spock, leaving him bereft in the middle of their bathroom, endeavoring to calm down again as he hears Jim speaking to someone in the bedroom. He feels the need to meditate once again, his thoughts as scattered as a fresh ensign's first report. How could Jim have such a strong effect on him? Surely Spock has better control over himself than this. 

"Yeah, I know...I'm sorry, I overslept. Of course, yeah," Jim ends the call as Spock emerges into their bedroom, looking toward the naked slope of his lover's back where he sits on the edge of their bed. _Their_ bed; that was a distinction he found he illogically enjoyed making, even if only to himself. 

"That was my boss," Jim grumbles, waggling his comm unit in his hand for Spock to see, as if he hadn't known Jim had been in a call. "I'm about forty minutes late." Grunting, Jim pushes to his feet and drags his fingers through his hair, mussed from their passionate activities of a moment ago. "So now that I'm already late, I guess I can take my time." Jim says with a snort and a cocky smirk Spock recognizes all too well; this is Captain Kirk, reinstated in a somewhat alternate fashion. Yet the commanding tone is there, the confident gait and the swagger, also the bravado. Spock bites back the ache that forms in his side at this reappearance of a man he thought long gone, worn down by his decisions and mistakes and now finding his niche in life again. Jim had found his rightful place, his path was clear and he felt accomplished in his work, giving him back that certain brand of confidence that was all Kirk. 

"Shall we travel together?" Spock offers as he follows Jim into their closet, selecting a clean uniform not yet unpacked from his duffle bag. It would seem he has become rather negligent and untidy, for surely he should have unpacked his things by now. Perhaps he was too...distracted. 

"Yeah, we could carpool. What time do you think you'll be done for the day?" Jim asks, his words partially muffled by the black undershirt he tugs on over his head. The sleeves grip his muscled arms in an aesthetically appealing manner and Spock finds he is reluctant to pull his gaze away, though his hands move on their own accord as he goes through the motions of dressing himself. 

"No later than three this afternoon." Spock replies, garnering a nod from Jim. 

"Cool, then we'll pick up David on our way home. Sound alright?" 

"I am amenable to this arrangement, yes." Spock clarifies, pushing his feet into his regulation boots. He straightens, facing Jim in the grey dress uniform off-duty officers commonly wear; because he is meeting with men of superior rank, he would be remiss appearing in his gold tunic. Sliding the hat from its resting place atop the chest of drawers, he tucks it under his arm and catches Jim's openly wanting gaze. The hunger he sees there makes a renewed heat stir in his belly. 

"Christ, I'm going to peel you out of that later, I swear it." Jim hisses, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth and straightening his own uniform, the red stripes over his shoulders announcing his status as an engineer.

Spock feels his face grow hot at Jim's impassioned words, a thrill of excitement at that promise making him falter, his head cocking to the side as he slides into his normal mode of defense in order to deflect, "Likewise; given we are not interrupted for a third time, I intend to have you tonight." Spock steps from the closet, but not before seeing the shock transform Jim's face, his words seemingly well received. He definitely does not feel smug. 

 

After grueling hours of regulation debriefings are completed for the day to Starfleet’s standards and Spock emerges from the conference room at Starfleet Headquarters, his mind a mash-up of all the reports they had discussed. Tomorrow, Spock would be expected to defend his choices of officers ready for promotion, backing up his arguments with evidence by way of performance reviews and special conduct reports throughout the five year mission. He had a lot of work to do outside of these briefings as well, for he would need to compile his materials into a format conducive for presentation. It wouldn't take him all evening, he had flagged which documents he would need from the ship's databases, but he would need to spend some time composing his comments in regards to each officer's impending climb up the ladder of Starfleet hierarchy. 

Free of responsibilities for now, Spock is satisfied to find the rain has stopped and the fog has cleared somewhat, retreating back towards the bay from whence it had come. To his surprise, Jim is already waiting in the main square outside the building; perhaps loitering would be a better descriptive word however. He sees Jim before his partner notices him and Spock takes a moment to watch the rapid energy in the man drive him to pace. In many ways, David is exactly like his father, and this was one attribute they both shared. Instead of squirming or twitching about as David did, Jim often expended his energy in broader movements, a restless soul. 

Blue eyes scan around and find Spock as Jim turns away from the fountain he had been flicking grit into with his thumb, a wide grin morphing his face into beauty with his pleasure at seeing Spock. "Hey, they sprung you!" 

Spock arches a brow, sliding the hand holding his PADD behind his back and approaching his lover at an unhurried pace, "You infer that I was held against my will?" 

"Aren't we all in a form of confinement during debriefings?" Jim smirks, stepping easily into Spock's ring of space without any regard for the public setting they are in, causing Spock to straighten. Although, he cannot bring himself to reprimand Jim for it, after all, what do they have to hide? Jim is no longer his captain and Spock is currently relieved of duty; what rules their current actions may have broken aboard a starship do not apply here. 

"I hope I did not keep you waiting long." Spock says instead, his eyes noting the smudges of pencil lead and black pen over the fingers of Jim’s right hand. Jim had been sketching then. 

"Naw, only like...twenty-five minutes." Jim mutters with a shrug, dismissing Spock's subtle apology. "C'mon, let’s go get David. I was thinking we could drive out to the water front and spend some time together for a while. It's going to rain the rest of this week, so I want David to get a chance to be outside before the teachers keep them in at recess." 

"Keeping a child inside during a time designated for the release of excess energy seems counterproductive." Spock says with a slight frown, to which Jim agrees with exuberance. 

"I know, right? They're kids, they're going to get muddy out in the rain, and kids gotta play." Jim says, waving his hand, "but I guess parents complained, some kids getting sick all the time. Teach your kid to wear their damn jacket then..." Jim grumbles as they approach their car. 

David is waiting behind the school gates when they pull up outside the institution and Jim snags an I.D. badge from his vehicle's storage compartment, wrapping the lanyard around his wrist before getting out to collect his son. Spock follows, interested in surveying the facility David is regularly educated in. 

The gate is closed but there are other parents mingling at the front, gaining entry by swiping their I.D. cards and then leaving with their children in tow. "Uh, if they ask, you're with me. You don't have an I.D. card and I only listed you as a third emergency contact since I doubted they would ever have a need to call you. I'll have to fix that another time." Jim mumbles, his plans shocking Spock somewhat. He would be listed as a second responsible caretaker for David? He couldn't argue against the logic of it, granted that they were now all living together once more, especially since Jim had little family to rely on in turn. But a part of him still derives pleasure in Jim's obvious trust in him, and his willingness to include Spock in his small family.

"Hey bud, how was school?" Jim asks, his hand cupping against the back of David's head after the child spots them across the school yard and runs over to join them to return to the car. 

"Fine," David murmurs with a shrug; his attitude a far cry from what Spock had witnessed in the child upon dropping him off. Had something adverse transpired while he had been in class? Jim, however, doesn't probe his son for further information and Spock makes a mental note to perhaps broach the topic later himself. If David was having issues at school, Spock thought that perhaps he could be of assistance; especially if it were related to difficult subjects David might be having issues committing to memory. 

In the car, David is rather quiet and Spock glances twice at the child in the reflection of the rear-view mirror, almost certain that he has fallen asleep. He sees that David is simply staring out the window, not trying to start a conversation and certainly not radiating the level of excitement he usually does. Pursing his lips, Spock catches a long glance from Jim for his scrutiny. Spock arches a brow in silent query, but Jim only shakes his head, speaking up a moment later, "Hey David, I was thinking we could go down to the water front for a while before we go home. Does that sound okay?" 

"Really?" David blinks, seeming to shrug off a bit of his maudlin attitude, "yeah!" He grins. "Can we get cotton candy?" 

"Only if you eat something else first." Jim replies. 

Spock had had no prior reason in his life to venture down to the water front or the place considered 'The Pier', and when he stepped from the car, he immediately knew why he had never felt an interest in visiting. Not only did the place reek of marine life, an odor he found unpleasant, but it was entirely too loud. There were so many people milling about that Spock instinctively reached for David when the child stepped out onto the sidewalk, drawing David in close against his side with a hand on his shoulder to restrain him from running off. 

"Can I have a hot dog?" David asks, and it takes Spock a moment longer than necessary to realize that the question had been directed at him. Spock pauses momentarily, tipping his face down to regard David curiously before directing his eyes toward Jim. Wasn't this a question more suited for the father of the child to answer? 

Jim doesn't make any move to answer however, his hands thrust into his pant pockets, shoulders lifting in a shrug with his lips turned down in an odd expression of nonchalance. Spock replies in a hesitant tone, "I...do not see the appeal in such a manner of food, but if that is what you require-" 

"Hot dogs are good, Spock!" David chirps, his earlier mood seeming to be forgotten. 

"David, Spock is a vegetarian. No matter how well you pitch your sale to Spock, you'll never get him to eat a hot dog." Jim chuckles, smoothing a hand down over David's head, the child's hair ruffled by the wind coming in off the bay. 

Together they walk in a line down the old planks of the water front district, passing rows of shops catering mostly to strong smelling foods or entertainment. They pass a particularly loud establishment and when Spock peers into the darkened confines, he sees all manner of machines set up for electronic games. Jim calls it an arcade. 

"When I was a kid, I used to sink every tiny allowance I got into the arcade in Iowa, they didn't have very many good games, but it was a great pastime," Jim shares, hooking his finger in the back of David's t-shirt to keep him from wandering into the loud building. "Maybe another time, kiddo. Let’s get something to eat first." 

They end up standing in line outside a sandwich shop, approaching the counter to place their orders and receiving a slip of paper with a number scratched on it. They are lucky that Spock's Vulcan hearing picks up their number when it is called, for over the rest of the noise around them, Jim would have missed it entirely. They eat their sandwiches in paper wrappers as they continue to explore, walking into a few other stores along the way. David can hardly contain his enthusiasm for a shop titled _'Games and Tricks'_ , and upon entering Spock notices what they meant by 'tricks'. It is a magic shop, an entertainment built upon human wonder and the propensity to fool one another using illusions and feats of imagination. Spock sees no logic in the tools and games of this particular pastime, but David's excitement over a multitude of toys leads him to believe that David is very passionate about the supposed wonder of magic. 

"He has a few magic toys already," Jim mutters to him from the corner of his mouth, the both of them observing David trying to pick a single item to buy with his savings. "Don't be surprised if he wants to put on a show later this week. Pretend it’s good, alright?" 

"You wish to encourage this form of behavior?" Spock inquires, arching a bewildered brow. 

"I like to encourage his imagination." Jim says with a shrug and Spock cannot fault him for his decision. In a way, David had grown quite a lot since Spock had seen him last, developing in both body and mind. Perhaps it would not be so illogical to encourage David's childish tendencies for as long as they were able, if it brought him happiness. 

Eventually, David picks out a packet of what looks to be cartoon eyes, little black pupils wiggling inside plastic casements that Jim calls 'googly' eyes. David excitedly informs them at the counter as he pays, dragging a small coin purse in the shape of a robot out of his pocket, "They stick to things!" Before they leave, Jim places another odd packet on the counter, buying it himself and handing the toy to David on their way out. 

"Cool! Funny mustaches!" He tears into the packet as they walk, selecting a wide depiction of facial hair, long tendrils of the fake hair hanging down on either side of his mouth as he peels off the paper back and sticks it to his upper lip. With a grin, he tips his head up towards Spock, holding the packet out to him. "Do you want one too, Spock?" David asks eyes bright. 

Jim laughs. "I'll wear one if you wear one," He chuckles, taking the packet of adhesive facial hair from his son and rooting around inside it. Pulling out a small square of a mustache Jim grimaces at Spock, "too soon." He says with a shake of his head, dropping the small piece back into the packet. Instead, he picks out a bushy one, peeling off the back and pressing it down over his upper lip. He blows at the loose hairs hanging down over his lips and grins crookedly at Spock. "What do you think, do I look like Tom Selleck?" 

"I do not know whom you are referring to, but you look entirely ridiculous." Spock says eyeing the packet Jim holds out toward him with a weary resignation. 

"Humor me, Spock." Jim smiles, "I want to know which one you pick." 

Sighing inwardly, because he'd much rather not make a fool of himself, Spock slips his fingers into the bag and selects one of the smaller mustaches. It is really only two thin strips of hair, straight and not at all flashy, so Spock peels them free with reluctance, the three of them pausing in their walk to watch as Spock presses the pencil thin mustache down over his upper lip. As expected both Jim and David erupt into riotous laughter, David holding his sides, the tendrils of his long mustache fluttering from his heaving breaths. Jim's mustache nearly pops off as he laughs, hanging crookedly above his mouth until he regains enough composure to smooth it down again. 

"You look like an angry Frenchman!" Jim chuckles, "it suits you remarkably well. Maybe you should consider growing your own." 

"A highly illogical endeavor, and an infringement on one of Starfleet's most standard regulations." Spock says, arching his brow, which only seems to kick his companions into another round of intense laughter. 

"Can we ride the carousel?" David asks, directing their gaze across the pier to the colorful machine slowly turning about ahead of them. Porcelain painted horses and other mountable animals heave up and down under their charges as both kids and adults alike take turns on the ride. Spock feels dizzy just watching it, but Jim reaches out to slip his fingers over Spock's, linking them together. 

"Why not?" Jim says with a sunny smile and Spock shamefully relents, following behind father and son towards the line of people waiting to board. Jim pays the fee to the operator and David cuts through the gate like a shot of lightening, making a direct bee-line for the western style pony trussed up to be a faithful companion to a cattle rustling individual. 

"Look Dad, I look like a cowboy on this one!" David grins, smoothing his mustache down again as he clamors up onto the steed. 

"Well Spock, after you." Jim motions towards the array of animals parading around the circumference of the ride and Spock squints, noticing a bench further in and starting for it, only to be tugged back by a hand on his sleeve. "No no, if I'm going to be riding a zebra, you're going to be riding something too." Jim laughs, stepping up onto the circuit ride and throwing a leg over the striped equine. Without a choice, Spock selects the only animal near to Jim and David, which so happens to be an ostrich. It is a somewhat awkward saddle since the animal is posed with a leg forward, it’s back tilted mid-prance. But Spock straddles it with a narrow-eyed glare at Jim. 

"What, we're breaking all the rules today Spock, live a little!" Jim grins, reaching out to buckle David's seat-belt around his waist just as the bell chimes to alert them to the beginning of the ride. It takes a moment to get up to speed, slowly turning and Spock watches as faces and buildings begin to pass them by. Soon the view becomes too dizzying, so he directs his eyes in toward David and Jim, who are smiling and laughing at one another, Jim teasing his son about taking proper care of his 'noble steed'.

By the time the ride slows, Spock is somewhat disoriented and he grips the pole above the ostrich for support until he gets feeling back into his legs again, following Jim and David off the ride. "Dad, I want to see the sea lions." David pleads, "Before we go, please?" 

"For a little bit, David." Jim agrees, sliding his hands into his pockets and watching his son walk a few steps ahead of them, seeming to be at ease with the crowd and confident in David's safety with them behind. 

Spock's upper lip twitches, because the hair is tickling his nose and he reaches up to remove the mustache, but before he can Jim forestalls him, saying, "Kiss me first, John Waters, so I know what it feels like to nuzzle a Vulcan with facial hair." He chuckles, turning to lean his back up against the metal railing edging the pier, the howling of the sea lions below them turning their conversation private with David's attention directed out at the bay. 

"I find that statement...somewhat appalling." Spock murmurs, leaning forward to cross his arms over the railing, gazing over at Jim with a fondness he cannot withhold from his expression. 

"C'mon, you know you want to kiss this crazy caterpillar of mine." Jim says with a wide grin and pointing at the adhered mustache, "I'll let you take it off afterward?" 

"Dad! That one's slapping its belly!" David laughs, pointing down at a sea lion lounging on its bulbous back, creating a ruckus. 

Jim's smile remains and Spock let his eyes sweep over his lover's face before leaning forward, stealing a chaste kiss without a glance about them, finding the furry texture of the kiss to be odd and not entirely pleasing. "I believe I prefer you clean-shaven." Spock murmurs shifting his weight to make room for David as the child inserts himself between his father and Spock, grinning up at them both. 

With a bark of laughter, Jim reaches out and peels the thin mustache off Spock's lip, " _oui monsieur!_ "


	4. We Cannot Go It Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday evening rolls into Friday and Jim's normal routines gain a partner as Spock settles further into the household. Together they discuss their future, and their pasts while tackling problems of parenthood together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers, I'm back with another chapter! I have decided that from now on, I'll be updating every **Sunday** to ease a little bit of the strain of writing for me. I want to write this one without added stress on myself, or on my beta reader and if I let myself get ahead in chapters, they'll be much better in the end. I know this might disappoint some of you, but don't worry, I won't miss a Sunday. =] 
> 
> On another note, I would love to thank NWKate for her help with beta reading for me, she's doing a lovely job and I couldn't do it without her.  
> Secondly, I want to dedicate this chapter to [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/pseuds/MissBAMF) since she was the one who showed interest in the idea of David's reaction to finding out his father left everything behind for him. I have written this chapter with her in mind and I hope she enjoys it once she gets to read it. I also want to thank her again for letting me ramble about this fic and the plot I have in mind for it, as well as her unfailing encouragement. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWFysjSyp_M) song called _'Dice'_ by **Finley Quaye** featuring **Beth Orton**. Feel free to give it a listen while reading this chapter if you would like.
> 
> Now that we've got business out of the way, lets proceed to pleasure. Enjoy folks!

**Captain Spock**

Fan-art by ChemicalOrgasm

It's a Thursday night and the whole house is silent, save for the quiet wanderings of one restless house cat and one entirely too restless father. Jim had put David to bed over an hour ago, his son exhausted from running around on the pier that afternoon. A part of him knew better than to assume his son would stay in his own bed for the remainder of the night, but one could always hope, which was why he wasn't going up to bed quite yet himself. 

They had returned home earlier that evening and David had brought his homework out to the dining room table to work on while Jim had disappeared into the office for a little while, leaving Spock seated in the dining room with David. Having left the office door ajar, Jim listened to his son explaining his homework to the Vulcan to the best of his abilities, receiving corrections from Spock whenever he was at a loss as to how to proceed. Together, the two had tackled David's math homework, writing assignment, and a science project that would be due Monday. While Jim had a moment of peace, he spent the time going over the sketched model of his latest project, uploading the changes onto his design software. 

It was after seven when Spock had ventured forth to find him, his hand sliding across the door to press it open farther as he stepped into the office, startling Jim out of deep contemplations about a design problem he had been trying to work out for the better part of a week. Jim looked up; eyes blinking behind the rims of glasses he generally wore when his eyes were getting tired of staring at the same dark lines across his blueprint pages. "Oh, hey...did you guys finish David's homework?" 

Spock stands like a silent statue in the doorway, his brow slowly rising toward his hairline until Jim realizes that he is wearing his glasses and yanks them off with an embarrassed flush, heat crawling up the back of his neck. "I was unaware that you require the use of bifocals, James." Spock murmurs, his eyes following the offending item as Jim tosses them onto his desk, his secret now exposed. 

Carding his fingers back through his hair, Jim shrugs lightly, "I don't exactly go around _announcing_ that I need glasses, Spock. And they're not bifocals...they're reading glasses." Jim says defensively, pushing his chair back from the desk to stand, stretching his arms out above his head with a grunt. 

"When did this begin?" Spock asks, his voice already carrying a hint of concern that Jim doesn’t need. 

"About a year ago," Jim says dismissively, "don't worry about it Spock, it's just because of eye-strain. I don't have particularly bad vision or anything. Unless, you think they're sexy..." Jim grins, sidling around the edge of the desk and scooping his glasses up off the surface. "Do you think I look sexy in them Spock?" Jim asks grin widening as he approaches Spock, sliding the glasses back onto his face and pressing a hand into the center of the Vulcan's chest until his back lightly hits the edge of the doorjamb. 

Spock's brows lift in surprise, brown eyes somehow managing to be both confused and darkly intrigued as Jim approaches him, "The mere presence of reading glasses does nothing to add or subtract from your level of attractiveness, James." His chin lifts when Jim moves in as if to kiss him, effectively avoiding the gesture to finish speaking, "I find your self-consciousness towards wearing them unnecessary and illogical." 

"Oh, you do, do you?" Jim smirks, settling for planting a quick kiss on Spock's chin before drawing away with a sigh, pulling the glasses off his face and tucking them into the pocket of his sweat pants. "I guess they just make me feel and look older than I want to be, Spock." He explains. 

Tipping his head in understanding, Spock straightens from his lean against the edge of the door, "Given that I am two years, four months, and three weeks your senior Jim, I should be the one to feel older while in your presence." Spock argues, to which Jim laughs softly in reply. 

"That's right. You turned thirty-one in August last year." Jim remarks, "but I'll be twenty-nine in a few more weeks, not that much younger than you." 

"And I'll be nine!" David says from the door way, "in just ten more days. Can I have a party Dad?" 

"Sure, sport." Jim says with a soft sigh, "make a list of the friends you want to invite so we can make invitations later this week." 

"Awesome!" David grins, his bright and sunny disposition renewed from time with his father and Spock. "Come see the volcano we made, Dad." 

Setting the schematics he had been holding in his other hand down on his desk, Jim follows his partner and child into the kitchen where indeed, a small model volcano made out of newspaper and paste sits on the counter. "We've still got to paint it," David says excitedly, crossing his arms over the edge of the counter and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jim reaches out to turn the volcano around on its wood base, peering down into the hallow paper towel tube stuck down the center. 

"We also require certain components to fabricate magma and produce the desired effect during simulated eruption." Spock explains, "You are currently out of dish detergent and food coloring." 

"Oh, I guess I'll pick some up tomorrow while I'm grocery shopping." Jim smiles at his son, smoothing a hand down over David's head. "You two did a good job so far though, but you can't make it erupt until Monday at the science fair, alright?" 

"I know," David mutters, "but we can practice in the sink, right?" His eyes light up, turning a pleading look up at his father. 

"Sure." Jim chuckles. "C'mon, time to get ready for bed." 

Later, with David's bedroom door closed and all the lights in the house off save for the one on the stairs and the lamp on the desk in the office, Jim tries once more to figure out a solution to the engineering problem spread out in illustrations across his desk. He hardly notices when Spock enters behind him, sliding past him and to the window where he lights a stick of his incense and rolls out his meditation mat. Straightening from where he's bent over his desk, Jim pushes his glasses up over the bridge of his nose and silently watches Spock adjust his meditation robe for comfort before sliding down into a cross-legged position on his mat. 

"Should I uh...leave you to it?" Jim asks, somewhat uncomfortable. He doesn't know if Spock needs total silence or solitude to perform his meditations, knowing that the link that resides between them surely must serve as only a distraction to Spock while he is trying to seek order in his own mind. However, Spock doesn't open his eyes when he speaks, but he does raise a hand to stop Jim from leaving the room, having heard his steps tapping lightly on the wood floor. 

"Your presence does not bother me, Jim. In fact, the machinations of your mind bent towards discovery are somewhat soothing to me." 

Jim is surprised, because did Spock just say his mind had a calming effect on him? Jim feels far from calm himself, especially given his latest frustrations. The urge to speak to his lover from across the room is great but he refrains from distracting Spock further by silently returning to his desk and sliding into the chair behind his work console. He cannot help but glance towards Spock every so often, curious to watch the Vulcan during such a private act as meditation. Even though he is staring, Spock doesn’t twitch or shift from his position on the floor, his expression is carefully blank and his eyes are firmly closed. His hands are open upon his knees, like a silent offering or invitation and Jim feels a longing to just crawl forward and curl up with his head in that lap for a while, to look up into that serene face. Would Spock even notice his approach, or was he completely detached from the world around him as he meditated? Dropping his pen on the floor with a sudden clatter doesn’t change his lover's concentration, so he safely assumes Spock is paying him no mind for the moment. 

It seems that even if Jim isn’t a distraction to Spock, Spock is a terrible distraction to Jim, even when he isn’t doing a damn thing to warrant his attention. Heaving a sigh, Jim scrubs his hands back through his hair, tearing his glasses off with a final feeling of defeat as he realizes that the prospect of getting any work done now is hopeless. A hand glides over the back of his shoulders, causing him to jump in his seat as Spock leans forward to view his work from behind him. "Jesus!" Jim gasps breathlessly, relaxing again, "I didn't even hear you get up." 

"I apologize," Spock murmurs, but his attention seems to be mostly directed at Jim's sketches. "May I inquire as to what you are working on that is causing you such stress?" 

"Oh, sorry...did I interrupt your meditation?" 

"Negative." Spock replies, pressing his other hand into the desk to closer examine a sketch to his left. "I have achieved a sufficient calm for this evening." 

Leaning back into the touch against his shoulder, Jim rubs his forehead with frustrated fingers, "Actually, I probably shouldn't even have these out and lying about, it's sort of a...classified job." Jim grumbles, "I've been keeping these in the safe when I'm not working on them." 

"A private commission?" Spock inquires, his hand sliding up to curl around the nape of Jim's neck, making his partner melt into the touch as fingers squeeze the tension out of tired muscles. 

"Mmn," Jim hums, his eyes sliding closed as Spock's fingers knead into the base of his neck, "not exactly? It's a project headed by an individual affiliated with Starfleet, but she works off campus. I came recommended to her by Admiral Pike, so I couldn't exactly say no, besides...she's Vulcan. I couldn't _not_ accept the chance to work with someone so brilliant." 

Spock's brows lift, interest multiplying tenfold, as is evidenced by the keen attention in his brown eyes as they sweep the blueprints again. "A weapon, of some kind?" 

"No, not exactly, it's designed to be fired through a torpedo bay; yes. But the professor assures me it isn't for any destructive means. Rather, for life. She doesn't explain a lot of the biology behind her work to me, in fact, I know very little. She's explained the kind of container she needs designed for this project, but so far all I've managed to get right is the shape, size of the casing, containment systems, and wells for the chemical reaction base toward the aft shaft." Jim frowns, "This thing has so many electrical and mechanical requirements; I need to figure out a kind of timed-release set up to allow the bio-matter of her design to be added to a base solution. But her chemical formulas are so difficult to follow. They're like nothing I've ever seen before, Spock." Jim mutters, casting a helpless glance up at his partner. 

"But I've got some time still, she hasn't reached the final stages of her experimentation yet and she's told me things may be subject to change come March so I'm not busting my ass too hard yet." Grunting, Jim stands up from under Spock's comforting hand, gathering together the prints laid out haphazardly before him and rolling them into a plastic tube resting against the edge of the desk. 

"How curious," Spock murmurs, the scientist in him no doubt longing to take a look at this Vulcan woman's project. "What is this professor's name?" 

"Professor T'Mal, but we've all been calling her Miss T'Mal or Professor. She teaches an environmental technologies class and a biochemistry class at the Academy." Jim shares, standing at the wall safe concealed behind one of his larger framed ship blueprints, using his sleeve tucked over his fingers to press the numbers in the keypad before bending to submit to a retinal scan. 

"Are you often required to secure your work in such a manner, Jim?" Spock asks; the name T'Mal is unfamiliar to him for she had joined the teaching roster at the Academy during his mission away.

"Only when I'm asked to. The professor doesn't want her work to become public before it's completed. I get the feeling that she sought out funding from Starfleet not only because of their interest, but for their protection from the media. She couldn't have built this thing on New Vulcan, there aren't enough resources for her there." 

Spock agrees softly, watching Jim slide the tube containing his sketches into the safe's confines, closing and locking the heavy door before dragging the picture back over it for concealment. 

"But I know you're not going to tell anyone about this," Jim says with a small smile, "in fact, you should probably meet her. Maybe your background in astrophysics could be of use to her." Together, they leave the office behind, the scent of Spock's still smoldering incense following them out into the hall as Jim turns out the light. 

"Indeed, I would enjoy meeting Professor T'Mal, even if only because she is another Vulcan." Spock's words cause Jim to pause, lowering his voice into one of gentle remorse. 

"Oh...Spock, you're right." Jim blinks, because how could he forget? Vulcans were so few in number, and even fewer were the number of Vulcans living on Earth, for most had returned to their people in order to rebuild their home. "When was the last time you got to meet with another Vulcan?" Did they require the presence of others of their species? Jim had no idea how telepathy worked in regards to its requirements. What if Spock had been deprived for too long of contact with minds like his own? In his own way, he could imagine that Spock must be lonely, at least for beings like himself. What if being around humans was a constant drain on him? 

"I have not met with another like myself in four years, seven months, three weeks." Spock clarifies, making Jim's heart ache for him. 

"Then you're definitely meeting her, but I can't tell you she'll like you exactly...I don't think she likes anyone, to tell you the truth." Jim says with a grimace, taking to the stairs ahead of Spock, hearing the rustling of Spock's heavy meditation robe behind him. "She used to catch me off guard with her...stoicism. I guess I'm too used to reading you and trying to read her is like meeting with a brick wall." 

"You have known me for five years, four months Jim," Spock replies, closing their bedroom door behind them and moving toward the walk in closet, already dragging his robe off his shoulders. "If you were just meeting me now, I believe you would hold the same opinions of me." 

"Naw," Jim says with a soft smile, dragging his shirt off over his head and tossing it towards the laundry hamper, "you might not think so, but I'm a pretty good judge of character. That woman is like ice." 

"She must have some preferred interests however," Spock says, words muffled from within the closet, "or she would not embark on a project that brings forth life, in whatever cryptic manner you have been told." 

"I guess so," Jim says, glancing at their bed distractedly. Would David be sleeping through the night in his own room? Would they finally have a chance to embrace each other without a child wedged between them? Jim stomps down the fledgling feeling of hope trying to rise in him. If these past four years of parenthood had taught him anything, it was not to get your hopes up, because plans changed faster than the speed of light, especially Jim's plans. "What are you passionate about then, other than exploring space?" He asks, trying to dispel the arousing images of he and Spock his mind was stubbornly trying to break him down with. 

"I have many," Spock admits as he strolls from their closet, dressed in a long-sleeved cotton shirt and loose sleep pants much like Jim's own. The view was somewhat disappointing, but Jim was stubbornly ignoring his desires...for now. "I am vastly interested in the development of New Vulcan, as well as in the forward growth of Starfleet and the Federation." 

"Yeah, but that's not really a _”passion”_ , that's just professional interest, right?" Jim says, climbing under the sheets with a subtle glance at the clock. If they made it to midnight, they would be golden, when David went to bed at nine and couldn't find sleep he usually gave up around midnight before crawling into Jim's bed. 

"You surmise incorrectly," Spock replies as they lay down together, Jim glancing toward Spock who is staring up at the ceiling, formulating a response, "I am admittedly anxious about the development of New Vulcan, for it is to now be my new place of origin." 

"Not your home?" Jim asks, rolling onto his side to more closely watch the minute shifts in Spock's expression, looking for those tiny tells he had grown accustomed to picking out over the course of their acquaintance.

"No," Spock says simply, "I have made my home elsewhere. My home resides here." 

Jim's lips purse as a well of tight emotion threatens to overwhelm him and he swallows past the urge to burst into a stupidly wide smile and curls his hands into fists, one jammed under his pillow and the other draped over his side. "You mean that?" 

"Vulcans do not say things they do not mean, Jim." Spock says, gentle brown eyes finally turning to regard Jim in the gloom of their bedroom, his bangs sweeping across his forehead in a manner Jim finds incredibly endearing. He reaches out to brush them aside with his fingertips, their straight line in absence causing Spock's features to seem more...boyish somehow. 

"What else are you _'intensely'_ interested in?" Jim asks mostly to keep himself from leaning forward and drowning himself in Spock's kisses, because there would be no way in hell he would be able to restrain himself into taking only one. 

Spock's eyes soften with what Jim assumes to be affection, finding himself smiling anyway at his partner in the dark, "I am invested in everything to do with you and David," Spock explains, "especially David's future. Which leads me to ask you a potentially difficult question," Spock says, rolling onto his side to face Jim, gaining his full attention. 

"What?" Jim’s smile fading as he notes the tone of seriousness in Spock's voice. 

"I could not help but notice the change in David's demeanor this afternoon when we retrieved him from school." Spock's brows draw slowly together into a small frown, brown eyes searching Jim's face. As Jim sighs, Spock presses on, "When I took him to school this morning, he was in high spirits. But when we collected him, he seemed despondent and detached. Something was clearly bothering him. I do not pretend to know a great deal about raising a human child, but in what I have witnessed between yourself and David, would it not have been prudent to acknowledge the change in behavior? Surely you noticed..." 

Jim's lips thin and he rolls away, resting on his back in the bed and wiping a hand down over his face, "I did notice, Spock." Jim sighs, "It's been like that for months now. Actually, probably longer, but it's only now started to bother him." 

"What disturbs him?" Spock probes, sliding up into a raised position on his elbow, looking down into Jim's face and pinning him with that incredible stare of his. 

"You weren't privy to all the shit that went down while you were away. I guess the media's field day over my leaving Starfleet lasted longer than I thought it would. There's been so much speculation and negativity over the whole issue, I was afraid Starfleet's PR division was going to call me and tear me a new one for all the bad press I've caused them." Sliding a hand back through his hair, Jim heaves another weighted sigh, "well, people talk...I'm pretty sure some parents of David's classmates have voiced some opinions and you know kids, they pick up on that kind of thing. So David's had to listen to a lot of backtalk about me, I think he's being made fun of for being the son of what some media groups are calling a 'failure' and 'defective' former ship’s captain." 

Spock's brow is thoroughly wrinkled by this point in Jim's explanation and when he sits up, leaning away from him, Jim watches his lover's back as it is presented to him. Sitting with one knee drawn up and his gaze directed out the balcony doors to his left, Spock is the image of a parent deeply discomfited and Jim cannot help but reach out and spread his hand over Spock's back. He strokes the soft material of the Vulcan's shirt, gaining a glance from Spock directed over his shoulder at him. "You have taken no measures to stop this abuse?" 

"What can I do about it, Spock? Short of making some public announcement or something just as stupid and pointless? What does it matter what people think about my leaving the _Enterprise_? I know why I left; you know why I left, what else is there to say?" Jim grunts, frustration bubbling inside him like hot, black oil. 

"Does David know?" Spock asks, throwing Jim for a loop. 

"What are you talking about?" Jim asks, blinking with an exasperated expression directed at Spock. 

"Does David know why you left your post as Captain of the _Enterprise_?" 

Jim hesitates, because Spock's question actually causes him to realize that he hadn't exactly ever had that conversation with David. To David, Jim had simply left, and that was that. Did David think the rumors were true then? Did David think his father was a failure of a captain or some kind of treasonous defect? The thought made the color drain from his face, heart sinking, and it wasn't long before Spock notices the change in his demeanor. 

"Oh God..." Jim murmurs, swallowing past a tender thickness in his throat, bringing his knees up to cross his arms over defensively, huddling in on himself.

"Jim..." Spock begins again, sliding one of his warm hands over Jim's arm resting atop his knees, trying to coax Jim into letting him in, letting him past what defenses Jim has struggled to build around himself in the years of separation between them.

Jim had had no support from anyone when he had left Starfleet just over three years ago, no one to lean on or seek advice from. The sheer amount of neglect from Starfleet and distasteful rumors that had been circulated about him by the media; they had all weighed him down until Jim had adopted an uncaring stance. But perhaps his personal disregard for what people thought of him was alienating him from his son? It made Jim sick to think that perhaps his son thought those lies were the truth. 

"What if David thinks I'm a failure too, like his friends tell him I am?" Jim asks turning blue eyes deep with hurt toward Spock and watching the Vulcan flinch at their raw vulnerability. 

"I do not think David believes any such thing, Jim." Spock denies his voice low and earnest to convince his partner of the truth, "I have seen how he acts with you, he feels quite deeply for you Jim. If anything...he may simply be confused and hurt by what his peers are telling him. Perhaps you need to discuss the truth with him. He was still rather young when you came home to take care of him." 

"I mean, you're right but...Christ, how do I explain to an eight year-old that I left everything; my career, my friends," Jim's eyes flit over Spock's face, "someone I loved---all to come back to take care of him? How do I explain it to him in such a way that won't leave him feeling guilty, like he's ruined my life?" Jim frowns, backpedaling, "Because he hasn't Spock, I don't want him to think that." 

"Explain to him that you harbor no regrets for your decisions. Tell him the whole truth, James." Spock says, urging Jim to lie back in the sheets with a hand on his shoulder, joining him in resting his head upon the pillows once more. Jim immediately turns, curling in towards Spock and ducking his head so it tucks beneath the Vulcan's chin. A warm, soft palm comes to rest against Jim's arm beneath the sheet and he sighs, receiving comfort from that touch and from the muted link between them that still manages to provide Jim with solace.

"I don't regret it Spock," Jim murmurs, tone soft but impassioned, holding a vast sincerity in his words, "being a father to David is so much more than just being a starship captain. I've gotten to watch him grow up, I've seen..." Jim's breath puffs out in a weak laugh, his forehead resting against Spock's sternum, "I've seen myself in him so much, Spock. The way he gets frustrated, the way he solves problems. He's such a smart kid, I'd hate for him to think I came back for him out of some misplaced feeling of guilt or regret." 

"He will not, Jim. Not as long as you speak with him, make him realize that he was the important component in your changing life." Spock reassures, making Jim lose his breath at the wisdom displayed by his lover. 

"I will...not tonight, but I will." Pressing forward, Jim loops an arm over Spock's waist beneath the sheets and draws him closer still, whispering against the soft cotton of Spock's shirt, "are you warm enough tonight?" 

"I am sufficiently insulated," Spock replies, "your warmth is adequate." 

Smiling softly, Jim lifts his head, offering Spock his lips for a kiss the Vulcan initiates with gentle affection, his fingers curling over the back of Jim's shoulder protectively. They lay together in contented silence, fingers roaming over flesh and stroking what portions of it they are able to reach of one another. Jim only pauses when he hears a sound outside their door, his chest expanding with a sigh. Their door creaks lightly open and Jim is pulling back the sheets behind him before his son can even step fully into the room. David's padding steps cross the floor, muffled by the carpet until his weight dips the mattress. He curls up tightly at Jim's back stealing half his pillow as the three of them settle into what has now become routine. 

 

In the morning, Jim rises at the sound of his alarm this time, jerking awake and sitting up to reach across Spock and turn it off. The ensuing silence is broken only by the rustling of sheets as David groans and flops over onto his side, arm hanging off the edge of the bed. "C'mon," Jim slurs, hampered by exhaustion as he reaches out and lightly shoves his son's shoulder. "It's time to get up. It's almost the weekend; you can sleep in all you want tomorrow morning." Jim says around a yawn that cracks his jaw, Spock's weight is a reassuring presence on his left. Smirking, Jim turns his head, gazing over toward his lover, having taken over part of Spock's pillow during the night while David had stolen his own. "Morning," he greets softly, watching brown eyes crack open to regard him with what Jim can only identify as sleepy resignation. 

"I don't wanna..." David grumbles, burying himself beneath the sheets until he is simply a lump in the bed. Jim sighs and rolls over, prodding his son's form. 

"C'mon kid, up and at 'em." But he gets no response as David attempts to return to sleep. Arching a brow, Jim sits up and glances over at Spock. "Why Spock, I cannot remember when we last acquired bedbugs as bad as these..." There comes a shuffling from beneath the blankets, David listening in. "Do you remember how we got rid of them last time?" 

It takes Spock a moment to catch on, his sleepy brain still not fully engaged, he arches a brow at Jim and looks like he is about to question Jim’s illogical question until he realizes who the 'bedbug' is. "Ah, I believe we..." he squints, trying to think of something reasonable and yet humane; completely illogical except in entertainment of a child, "tickled them?" He suggests, watching Jim's face spread with a devious smile. 

"That's right. We tickled them out of the bed..." Jim says, his voice rising towards a threat before he pounces, lunging for the hill in the sheets that is David. The lump produces a shriek followed by rapid giggles as Jim fights to hold David down and poke and prod at his sides and legs over the comforter. 

"No, no! Please! Stop!" David shouts, voice muffled under the blankets as he flails, fighting his father's attack before giving up and struggling free. He falls out onto the floor over the side of the mattress, tugging the blankets half off the bed in the process as he rolls away and scrambles to his feet half way to the bedroom door. "Fine, I'll get up, jeez!" He capitulates, but he is unable to display his petulance at his father's antics with a wide smile on his face. David makes his escape out into the hall, his feet clamoring on the stairs followed by a resounding thump, no doubt leaping from the last step.

Flopping back against the pillows, Jim pushes his fingers into his eyelids, rubbing the sleep from them with a second yawn. "What time are you going in today?" Jim asks softly. 

"Seven," Spock replies; remembering to use Earth standard time. "They are sending a transport for me at six-thirty." 

"So you'll be gone by the time I get back from dropping his butt off at school." Jim says his voice somehow infused with affection and weariness at the same time. 

"Indeed, and I do not know when we might finish our business." Spock says, rolling into a sitting position, swinging his legs out over the edge of the bed. 

"You can have the first shower then. I guess...give me a call or send me a message when you're free, so I know whether to make dinner for two or three." 

Rising from their bed, Spock retreats toward the bathroom, flipping on the light and blinking as his eyes take a moment to adjust, "Certainly, Jim." Spock remarks before closing the bathroom door, leaving Jim to stew in bed on his first day off for the weekend. Normally, Jim has Fridays to himself while David is at school and he spends the time working on what he can from home. Now that Spock has returned, Jim begins to wonder if his Fridays will become 'date night' opportunities. Perhaps Jim can make some kind of arrangement with one of David's friend's parents, put together a sort of reciprocal sleepover thing. 

Heaving himself out of bed, Jim ambles downstairs and flips on the coffee maker, rubbing focus back into his eyes before approaching the replicator, pressing buttons to program a breakfast for David. 

"Spock made me toast and cereal yesterday..." David remarks from behind him and Jim turns to look down at his son with raised brows. 

"Oh, did he? Complaining about replicated food now, huh?" Jim comments noting the wide-eyed expression of sheepishness on his son's face. Sighing, Jim nods and walks over to the fridge, opening it to retrieve the milk as David scurries to the cabinets for cereal. 

"I'm going to have to watch it or Spock is going to spoil you, kid." Jim mutters, scratching the stubble on his cheek and setting a bowl and spoon before his son at the table. 

"He also gave me apples...," David points out, a small smile curling his lips, attempting to charm his father. 

Rolling his eyes, Jim returns to the fridge to find what fruit he has on hand, "well, an orange will have to do this time. I need to go grocery shopping, kid, we don't have much." 

"Oranges are fine." David replies rocking back and forth as he chews a bite of cereal with obvious pleasure, satisfied now that he's gotten what he wanted. 

Spock doesn't come downstairs until David is nearly finished with breakfast and Jim looks up from his cup of coffee seated across from his son at the table, his PADD set before him showing some public news feeds. Spock still looks as delicious as he did yesterday in his grey dress uniform, his hat tucked under his arm, politely not wearing it indoors. "I made you a cup of your tea," Jim points out, tipping his chin in the direction of the mug resting by the coffee machine. 

Spock inclines his head Jim’s way in thanks and takes the offered mug, bringing it to his lips as he approaches the replicator for his own breakfast of steel cut oats over fruit. Jim supposed spending three years eating out of a replicator made one used to the off undertones of flavor the machine seemed to give every order. 

"I should reprogram that thing for a few Vulcan dishes. Know where I could get my hands on a few original Vulcan replicator programs?" Jim asks, leaning back in his seat with his mug of coffee balanced against his leg. 

"I do not, but given that engineering is your field of expertise, perhaps you would have an easier time of locating such sub-routine program chips for our personal use." Spock points out, sitting down at the table between David and Jim, his eyes automatically falling towards Jim's open browser on his PADD.

Closing out the browser, Jim decides he doesn't want Spock's start of the day to consist of tea and the latest speculations of the media. However, it seems he hadn't reacted fast enough, because Spock pins him with a bland expression. 

"What..." Jim deadpans in return, giving just as good as he got and returning Spock's stare, not breaking eye contact even to blink. 

"Perhaps it was unwise to reveal the nature of our relationship at such a public venue, James." Spock demurs, his tone a little icy. In light of their conversation last night, Jim has to agree; the kids would have all sorts of ammunition to tease his son with now. Now that the world knew Jim liked to take it from a Vulcan. Except...he hadn't exactly taken anything of that nature from Spock in over three years. But what did that matter in the face of wild speculation and hot gossip? 

"I'm sorry, you're probably right but _Christ_ Spock, you don't know how many times I've read such shitty crap about us on the news feeds, I just wanted to make things clear finally. Can you blame me?" 

Spock pondered his remark for what seemed only a second before returning with, "Yes." 

"Oh, well fine...be mad at me." Jim mutters, pushing his PADD away from him and moving toward the stairs, needing to change out of his pajamas in order to drive David to school. 

He didn't get far however when a hand caught his wrist and reeled him back, his steps taking him right to the edge of Spock's chair with the sleek looking Vulcan looking up at him. "I am not displeased with you Jim, however, your timing could have been better." 

"Yeah, well I've never professed to being great at my timing." Jim mumbles, reaching up to pinch and lightly tug on one of Spock's earlobes, causing his Vulcan to flush slightly. "We'll see you later, okay? C'mon David, get your shoes on, it's only going to take me five minutes to get ready and it's going to take you ten just to get all your books and things together." 

David scoots from the table, taking his dishes to the sink before darting down the hallway to his bedroom to obey. When Jim comes back downstairs to locate his keys, he spends about two minutes circling the kitchen, foyer, and living room until one look at Spock causes the Vulcan to produce the keys from his hand, holding them out toward Jim without lifting his eyes from his own personal PADD. If Vulcans could radiate smugness, Jim could swear Spock was doing so now. Snatching the keys from Spock's fingers, Jim catches his hand before it can retreat to rest in his lap once more, lacing their fingers together and drawing Spock's attention away from his reports.

"Sneaky Vulcan..." Jim’s heart is thudding in his chest as Spock's surprised eyes lift from their joined hands toward his face, his lips parting as he gleans his partner’s emotions from their link during the skin-to-skin contact. Jim concentrates on sending him a wave of heat and desire, which isn't hard given what Spock is dressed in, his eyes making one slow circuit of Spock's body that causes his partner's eyes to slam shut from the assault by Jim's vivid feelings. "See ya." Jim says with a smirk, dropping a kiss down onto Spock's knuckles before turning away and leaving him sitting bereft at the dining room table, just as David comes bounding down the hall towards the garage door. 

"G'bye Spock!" David quips, yanking the garage door open and thundering down the stairs. 

 

Jim returns to an empty house ten minutes after seven, finding that Spock had done the breakfast dishes before leaving for Starfleet Headquarters. Smiling to himself, Jim goes upstairs to finish getting prepared for the day. He has found that trying to do work and focus on engineering schematics while tousled and not having taken a shower never produce his best ideas. A half hour later he returns downstairs and lingers in the kitchen making himself something to eat, deciding he'll go to the grocers later as his mind is already reeling with new ideas he wants to attempt to implement in Professor T'Mal's project. 

Sliding into his desk chair he wakes his console up and logs into his account, checking his personal and then professional messages before getting up to extract his blueprints from the safe. He spends three and a half hours agonizing over them, scrapping one sketch entirely to begin anew, dissatisfied with his calculations. Vulcans valued precision and accuracy, Jim wasn't going to let laziness make his work seem less than satisfactory in the eyes of the professor. 

It's well past the lunch hour by the time Jim comes up for air, dragging himself away from his work and rolling up his sketches to deposit them in the safe once more. Frustration clouds his mind because he knows he is missing some key component to make this whole structure work, knows that if he could just see some of Miss T'Mal's chemical formulas more clearly that he might be able to come up with something more substantial for her. As it is, he does not have access to that kind of knowledge and even asking for it would seem out of line. He has his orders and he has the answers to his larger questions, but without knowing the circumstances of the use of this mechanical...whatever it is... he knows the potential for error is much larger on his side of things. 

What if they put this thing together, test it out in space, and create some massive black hole? Jim had been terrified when he had managed to glimpse a few chemical compounds in Professor T'Mal's handwriting at the warehouse. The compounds she was suggesting were rather unstable, things like radon and xenon compound structures, viewed as highly unstable in both a scientific calculation and physical sense. What on Earth she was planning to do with those compounds in order to facilitate a stable reaction, Jim did not know. But it was enough to keep him up at night thinking about sometimes. 

Dragging his feet, Jim gets a sandwich out of the replicator, knowing he is out of turkey and therefore tolerating the replicated meat; he goes upstairs to change into jeans and a dirty old t-shirt. Out in the garage, the C2 Corvette is calling to him, as it often does when his mind is weary from the work and would rather seek escape in the form of manual labor. Fixing cars Jim can do, that sort of thing is as easy as pie to him and sometimes the act of keeping his hands busy and letting his mind drift helps him solve whatever problems he faces when it comes to his job. 

Downstairs in the garage, Jim opens the garage door to let in some fresh air, the fog having finally cleared over most of San Francisco, weak sunlight is shining through the partially overcast skies. Getting out his tools, Jim yanks the tarp off the Corvette and pops the hood, leaning over her open hood to jog his memory back to the last thing he had been trying to fix. Oh, that's right...the water pump. Taking his time, Jim inspects a few other repairs he had already made over the course of the month before and gets out the wheeled platform he uses to roll beneath the car while on a jack so he might access her more hard to reach places. After a while, he seeks out the added distraction of music, turning on the old player sitting atop the dryer, relaxing further into mental numbness while listening to the voice of Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin sing through the player speakers. _'Eye of the Tiger'_ comes on soon after _'Black Dog'_ and Jim bobs his head to the beat, moving his lips to the words as he slides under the car, his legs sticking out from beneath its raised body. 

He doesn't know how many hours have passed, only that at least twenty songs or so have played since he had started working on the Corvette, so when he hears a step in the garage to his right, he startles. He doesn't know what he's thinking, but he assumes it is David and asks, "Hey, can you hand me that wrench on the dryer, buddy?" The steps move across the garage, measured and not at all like his son's, and so when a foot taps his ankle Jim slides out from under the car to retrieve the wrench held out to him and freezes in shock to see Spock standing there, brown eyes shining with amusement. 

"Spock!" He exclaims, directing wide eyes all the way up to the Vulcan's face before finally struggling to his feet off the rolling platform. He leans his butt back against the door of the Corvette and reaches into his pocket, dragging out a rag and wiping his blackened hands on it, the wrench forgotten between his fingertips.

"Who did you believe it was?" Spock asks curiously, clasping his hands behind his back, the hat on his head making him seem even taller and more severe, even though Jim can see affection in those eyes. 

"I don't know why, but I thought you were David." Jim chuckles, setting the wrench back down on the dryer. He turns around and becomes very still when he finds Spock closer than he expected, a hand reaching up towards his face. Jim's lips part, a shocked and excited part of him wondering if Spock might be about to initiate a meld, but instead, Spock rubs a thumb firmly over Jim's cheek, wiping away what he shows Jim to be a smear of grease. Jim's smile falters as it wobbles across his face, embarrassed and amused at the same time, "Thanks uh, how was debriefing?" He asks tossing the rag back to hang over his shoulder as he walks around Spock to slam the hood of the Corvette closed again. 

Spock's brow arches, his head tilting down as he follows Jim upstairs to the house, the Corvette having been covered by a tarp once more. "It was long and tedious but rewarding." Spock describes, "I explained my rationale for the suggested promotions I submitted on behalf of the _Enterprise’s_ 's crew and they seemed well received." 

"That's great!" Jim enthuses from the foyer, closing the garage door behind them, "you aren't going to lose anyone off the ship, are you?" 

"That is still unclear, given that any and all promotions will be announced at the gala on Saturday." 

"Oh shit," Jim mutters, dragging a dirty hand back through his hair, "that's right, I've got to pick up David's suit from the cleaners for that. What time is it?" He glances back toward the kitchen but Spock answers him before he can find a clock, acting as Jim's personal and living time piece. 

"It is ten minutes past one in the afternoon." Spock supplies, making Jim curse again. 

"I've got to do a load of laundry, get some groceries in that fridge again, pick up David's suit and my tux from the cleaners...shit, I shouldn't have been down there as long as I was." Bounding towards the stairs, Jim retreats to their bathroom, taking a quick shower. By the time he emerges clean, a towel wrapped around his waist, Spock is just exiting their closet dressed down in a pair of deep navy blue jeans and an over-sized burgundy sweater. With so many things on his mind, Jim doesn't have time to stop and ogle him for long, instead brushing past Spock to find clothes and get dressed. When he steps out into the bedroom again, he groans, shoulders sinking, "Dammit, the one moment we're alone together and I've got a million things to do." He sighs, approaching Spock with disappointment plain on his face. 

"Do not worry Jim," Spock says softly, accepting the intimacy Jim offers him by way of his raised fingers, brushing them together into an ozh'esta, "we will get another chance." 

"I just want to send David off to be with a friend for a night and lock you up in the house with me, not leave for anything." Jim murmurs, his voice breathy with longing as he leans forward into Spock's space, pressing his cheek against the soft cashmere of Spock's sweater-clad shoulder. Spock's arms lift, resting lightly on his hips in such a sweetly promising way, Jim is seriously tempted to just say screw groceries, they'll order take-out for a few days if they have to if it would mean he and Spock could spend more than a few minutes together alone. But his conscience won't allow it and he pulls away reluctantly, his Vulcan’s brown eyes reflecting his own disappointment as they collect their shoes and make for the stairs together. 

"Oh, were you going to come with me?" Jim blinks, surprised as Spock slides his feet into a pair of loafers. "You don't have to, if you've got work to do instead."

"Currently, I am unconstrained by my duties, so I will accompany you." Spock replies, sending a warm buzz through Jim's stomach. 

"I guess that's handy actually, you'll be able to tell me what kind of food you'd like to eat this week while we're at the grocers." They climb into the sedan together once Jim finds his keys and Spock peers apprehensively up at the clouds through the windshield. 

"Did you bring a coat?" Jim asks, casting an appraising glance over Spock in the passenger seat. 

"Negative, the forecast did not predict rain for this afternoon. It was to arrive for this evening." 

"Ha, weather in this region is subject to change at a moment's notice, Spock. Here, you can wear this." Reaching into the back seat, Jim fishes his leather jacket off the back bench seat and hands it to Spock, "it's a little big on me, so I think it will fit you." 

Just as they reach the market, fat raindrops begin to plop down from the clouds above, thumping on the roof of the car. Jim pauses with his hand on the handle of the door, glancing at Spock, who has donned the leather jacket and wears it far better than Jim does, "are you ready to make a mad dash for it?" He grins. 

Spock eyes him speculatively, sliding his own fingers around the release handle of his door and dragging the collar of the leather jacket up around his neck with the other, "Affirmative." He says, and together they duck out of the car, Jim running around the back end to join Spock as they walk swiftly through the heavy rain, heads ducked down against the onslaught. Inside the store, Jim gives Spock's bangs, which are plastered to his forehead with rain, an affectionate look before commandeering a cart and pushing it ahead of them. 

"I was thinking I would make eggplant tonight, does that sound good?" When Spock nods, Jim directs them toward the produce department and selects a few round raisin colored eggplants. "Take a look around Spock this is the majority of your diet, after all." Jim says with a smile, watching Spock wander off amongst the rows of produce. He follows behind at a slower pace, watching Spock place several items in the cart. Amongst the normal staples of potatoes, tomatoes, and onions that Jim selects Spock places peaches, oranges, apples, pears, lemons, bananas, heads of lettuce, spinach, cucumbers, celery, and many other items into the cart. Jim laughs when Spock eyes the cart behind him, seeming to realize in that moment how much he's placed there. 

"It's okay Spock, pick what you want. What about those beets over there?" Spock follows Jim's pointing finger and deliberates. If a Vulcan could look guilty, Jim would swear that Spock looked rightly so. 

"Perhaps I should buy the necessary items for my meals, Jim," Spock offers, but Jim shuts him down immediately. 

"Don't be silly, Spock. _I'm_ clearly the housewife in this situation, so let me pay for the groceries. We'll figure out how we divvy the bills later." Reaching out toward a display of broccoli heads, Jim picks up three and bags them, slipping them into the cart with an appreciative glance from Spock. 

"I have been thinking about that arrangement, Jim," Spock begins, sliding a head of cabbage into a bag and then into the cart under Jim's amused look, "I believe it would be beneficial to us both if we opened a joint checking account together." 

"Oh you do, huh?" Jim mutters, his gaze sliding away. A few years ago, Jim would have been floored by the offer, but he cannot say it surprises him much now. Spock had proven more than capable of finding ways to provide for Jim and David, going as far as to dispute Jim's terminated pension plan. "How would that benefit us both? As far as I can tell, that seems rather biased in my favor." 

"Negative, Jim," Spock argues, falling into step beside Jim and the cart as they steer their way out of the produce section, "I would be benefited by knowing you and David would not want for anything as long as the funds in our joint account are maintained. It would also be an easy point of access to our funds should we be in a group outing together and not wish to quibble over who pays for the excursion. Instead, we would pay for things together, with _our_ shared funds." 

Jim has to concede that point and Spock poses a logical argument, but Jim cannot help but feel a little selfish somehow. Raising David was expensive, as any kid was, what with doctor's bills and school tuition fees. Food, clothes, toys, books; all necessary items which Jim paid for as David's father. But Spock had no such responsibilities, he shouldn't be expected to pay for things for David. 

"I don't know Spock..." Jim murmurs, half convinced but still uncertain, pushing their cart down the diary isle and picking up two gallons of milk and placing them in the cart. 

"I would like to assume some responsibility in the care of David." Spock says, catching Jim completely off guard. Jim straightens abruptly, nearly knocking over a lady trying to slip behind him to get to the soy milk. 

"You what?" Jim snaps, staring at Spock with incredulity. 

Spock frowns, no doubt confused as to why he needs to repeat himself when Jim had obviously heard him correctly, but doing so anyway in order to humor Jim, "If I am to be listed as an emergency contact for David, does that not place me in a position of higher accountability for the child? I have watched your son grow up over these past four years, Jim. I have become invested in his future. I admit to enjoying his company, as well as yours. I wish to ease some of your burden, if I may." Spock clarifies. 

Jim doesn't know what to say, because to him, it sounds like Spock wants to fully commit to his little family. In a way, Jim supposes a part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for something to drive Spock away. He has to admit that Spock's help would make things much easier, not just financially, but also when it came to raising David. Their conversation about David the previous night is testimony to that and he remembers the concern he had felt in Spock that night, the worry that Jim's son was being bullied. Biting his lip, Jim stares down into the confines of their cart, running his eyes over the various fruits and vegetables stacked up in paper bags. "You'd really want to do that for me? For us?" Jim corrects himself, his hands perched on his hips. He glances up at Spock from under the shadow of his lashes, pursing his lips, waiting for Spock to backpedal maybe. But he doesn’t.

"I would. I would not offer without having thought this through carefully." Spock replies, his voice steady and even, even as Jim feels his own is not. 

"God, Spock..." Jim breathes, still reeling from Spock's offer, having to move out of the way of another irritated woman trying to reach the milk behind him. Jim waves Spock on, motioning him to take control of the cart and get them the hell out of the way of all these damn housewives suddenly in need of milk. 

It takes him clear until the chip aisle to find the words he needs to answer Spock with, "What you're asking for is basically a domestic partnership, do you realize that?" Jim asks, peeking up at Spock walking confidently along beside him, an oddly paired image of a Vulcan pushing a grocery cart around. It's almost enough to make Jim laugh, but he knows it's just the giddiness and nerves getting to him and he calms the feeling before laughter can bubble up to pass his lips. 

"After a fashion, I suppose." Spock intones, inclining his head in agreement with Jim, "I would be living in your household, helping pay the bills of your household, and participating in social aspects of your household." 

"Our...household." Jim corrects softly, leaning to bump his shoulder affectionately against Spock's, causing the Vulcan's eyes to soften with a glance down at him. 

After a moment, Jim throws his hands up in defeat, biting his lip as he realizes once again that Spock isn't trying to ditch him after all this time, not when he's basically inserting himself into Jim and David's lives on a more permanent basis. "Alright, fine, why the hell not." Jim smirks, shaking his head. "You drive one hell of a bargain, Mr. Spock." Jim says affectionately, reaching for a box of pasta off the shelf and dumping it over his shoulder into the cart. "Though, I have to say, it'll be your funeral. Living in a house in San Francisco with a kid in elementary school is no happy picnic. We'll see how you look after one of David's doctor appointment bills comes in the mail." He chuckles. 

"I believe you would say, 'I am up to the challenge', Jim." Spock retorts, winning a toothy grin from Jim for his efforts. 

"C'mon," Jim smiles, "let’s go get some Oreos..." 

They finish grocery shopping just after two in the afternoon and linger on the threshold to the grocers watching the pouring rain beat the pavement outside. "I'll tell you what, you wait here and I'll bring the car around." Jim says, but Spock shakes his head, taking a brave step out into the rain and marching towards their car with a determined, head-strong streak evident in his firm steps, Jim trailing behind laughing. 

Jim drives them to the dry-cleaners next and runs in alone to collect the two garment bags, one holding his tux and the other smaller one holding David's suit. He hangs them on a hook in the back seat before rejoining Spock in the car, shaking water out of his hair and turning on the heater, realizing that Spock is probably rather chilled. 

"Well," Jim says, glancing at the clock on the car's dash, "we've got about fifty minutes to kill before we need to pick David up from school." 

"That should be sufficient time in which to meet with a bank clerk." Spock says, meeting Jim's stare. 

"You really want to do this?" Jim blinks, "today?" 

Spock's impatient brow raising is all the answer Jim needs, sliding out of their spot parked along the curb and back out into traffic, "Alright." He says reluctantly, though inside he feels warm and settled. 

They reach the bank ten minutes before three in the afternoon and the rain has lessened somewhat, much to Spock's appreciation as they both walk into the local branch of Jim's bank. He hadn't kept his money in Starfleet bank accounts since leaving his post as Captain and Jim had decided long ago that he wasn't going to start doing so again, just in case...he supposed. In any affect, it meant less people were tracking his funds. "This sort of reminds me about that loan you took out for me three years ago." Jim murmurs, "I just paid it off earlier last year, so thanks for that." 

"You are welcome, Jim." Spock murmurs as they walk towards the clerk desks, "Though I do hope this clerk is not as rude and judgmental as the financial adviser was in Riverside." 

Jim grins, "You know, I knew you had beef with her!" He laughs, "So I let David play with her potted plant..." Spock's amused, somewhat guilty glance at him makes Jim's smile broaden, "C'mon, it shouldn't be that bad this time. We're not here about my credit score..." Together, they approach a mousy woman in a cardigan with glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose and her hair done up in a messy bun. She greets them as soon as her eyes shift from the screen of her console, and then slide up even higher to regard Spock. 

"Oh!" She gasps, straightening, "hello, welcome to NorthWest Mutual." She smiles a little too brightly and Jim realizes that bringing Spock somewhere garners an automatic sympathy card. There isn't a person on the planet who doesn't know about what happened to Vulcan and it seems most people didn't know how to act around the refugees. "What can I do for you two today?" 

Jim speaks up first, Spock taking the back seat in the matter, "We're here to open a joint checking account?" Reaching into his back pocket, Jim pulls out his wallet and slides the I.D. chip for his credit account across the counter to her, Spock following suit with his own. Jim glances at it, and then turns wide eyes up to Spock, "That's not a Starfleet credit chip..." Jim mumbles. 

Spock simply stares at him, as if Jim stating the obvious was painful to him, "It is not." He agrees solemnly and Jim narrows his eyes, suspicious. 

"You were planning this weren't you? How long ago did you switch?" 

Spock's eyes dip away from Jim's and Jim knows he's caught him, "Eighteen months ago." 

"But you were out in space!" Jim points out; incredulity making his voice rise to an octave not becoming of his gender. 

"Indeed I was, but one can still make arrangements while on a starship, Jim." 

"Alright Mr. Spock, Mr. Kirk; if you two could just sign here and initial here." The woman, looking increasingly uncomfortable while they were in the midst of their conversation, slides a PADD across the counter towards them and holds out a stylus toward Jim. 

With a final glance at Spock, Jim snatches the stylus from the lady and bends to sign, putting a little more force and flourish than strictly necessary in the writing of his name before handing the stylus to Spock. "After you, my good man," Jim says with a firm stare, Spock ignoring him as he leans down to inscribe his own name to the digital document. 

"Will you two need two chips for access to the account then?" The woman asks timidly, blinking rapidly behind her thin frames. 

"Yes." Both Jim and Spock reply in unison, making the woman smile nervously before getting up to retrieve their chips from the printing machine behind her. 

They each receive an embossed credit chip for the account and Jim pauses before leaving, catching the woman's attention once more. "I would like to move a thousand credits into that account while I'm here, might as well." Jim says, shrugging. 

"Of course, sir!" The woman's fingers tap at the counter where the keys to her console are embedded, each key glowing under her fingertips as she depresses them. 

"And I would like to deposit one thousand credits into the same account, ma'am." Spock intones, causing Jim to eye him speculatively. 

"Show off," Jim mutters with a smirk, teasing his partner. 

Spock arches a brow, his hands sliding behind his back and his chest swelling under Jim's amused glance, but he refrains from replying to Jim's sideways remark. 

They leave with enough time to spare in order to get to David's school and Jim waves at his son as they approach the gates. David approaches them and wraps his fingers around the bars until Jim can let them in through the access reader, pocketing the lanyard and card afterward. "Hey kiddo, how was school?" Jim asks. 

"Fine," David returns in the same glum tone as yesterday and Spock casts Jim a knowing glance, the two sharing a moment of understanding. Jim mouths the word 'later' to Spock, knowing he needs to have the conversation he and Spock had discussed with his son today rather than some other time. 

"I'm making your favorite tonight David," Jim attempts, trying to draw David out of his shell, "Eggplant Parmesan." 

"Sounds cool." David remarks, voice distant. Jim and Spock share another glance, this time the Vulcan's brow is slightly furrowed. Again, Jim lips the word 'later' to his partner and they drive in silence the rest of the way home. 

David is the first one up the stairs and into the house, dragging his backpack behind him along the rug as he goes down the hall to his bedroom. In the kitchen, Jim helps Spock unload their groceries, arranging them in the refrigerator and pantry. Once they both hear David's bedroom door close, Spock casts a sharp look toward Jim. 

"What?" Jim splays his hands helplessly, "you think it was particularly bad today...because of what I said at STC?" 

"I do." Spock says carefully, "and yet this is not solely your fault, James. I did not discourage your affection upon our reunion, perhaps I should have." 

"You're kidding, right?" Jim stares at his partner, bewildered. "You would have pushed me away just to save face?" 

Spock's uncertainty shows in the way his eyes linger anywhere but on Jim, "Perhaps not." 

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Jim mutters, shaking his head and closing the pantry door. "What's done is done, Spock. All we can do now is deal with the aftermath." 

"You _will_ speak with him tonight, will you not?" Spock implores him tightly, words clipped. 

"Of course, Christ," Jim hisses, leaning back against the edge of the counter by the sink and sliding a hand over his face and mouth. "Spock...I know you're just as pissed off about David's problems at school as I am, but if we turn that anger against each other, it is only going to fuck things up more." 

Spock is silent where he stands, bracing his hands against the kitchen island, studying the black counter top before him.

"You know I'm right, we're going to tear each other apart about this if we keep bringing it up, placing the blame." 

"I am not blaming you, Jim." Spock murmurs his voice soft. 

"No, I know but-" Jim grumbles, curling his fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, "Jesus, I think we would be better aligned if we had one damn moment together for once." 

Spock's shoulders drop minutely and Jim watches his lover warily as he approaches, sliding his hands over Jim's hips and pinning him against the edge of the counter, holding him lightly. "Soon," He murmurs, voice pitched low in that shivery baritone that sends pleasure curling through Jim's guts every time. 

Swallowing, Jim nods, frustration easing, "I know...it isn't fair of me to get so worked up about this. David needs his time with you too. You've been gone for three years for fuck’s sake." Jim mutters, deflating and resting his forehead against Spock's chest as hands slide up his arms to where they lie folded across his own chest defensively. He loosens up though as Spock keeps him close, sliding his arms around his companion's neck and embracing him tightly. 

David ends up bringing his homework back out to the kitchen again and just like last night, he and Spock spend time over David's workbooks until they are complete. Meanwhile, Jim goes through the motions of making dinner, though his eyes stray constantly to look at Spock bent toward David at the table, watching him do his work and helping him through the harder questions. The pair of them is a sight to see, David's total trust and awe in Spock evident even now that he's older. He hangs on Spock's every word, nodding with enthusiasm when he understands something, or frowning when he doesn't and looking just like Jim every time he is ashamed of not knowing an answer. 

When Jim finally places dinner out on the table, he walks back into the kitchen and reaches across the bar to close David's handwriting book, "Alright, enough learning for now kids, time to eat some dinner." 

They all sit down in the dining room and Jim serves up portions on David's plate before serving himself, Spock going last as he watches the proceedings calmly. Half way into dinner, Spock nudges Jim's foot under the table and Jim glances up, noting the pointed glance Spock shifts toward David. His son is eating idly, but he isn't talking and his answers to Spock's questions about his day are short and lacking detail. It's almost the exact opposite of how David normally acts and Jim lifts his napkin to wipe his mouth, taking a drink of water from his glass. 

Spock directs his gaze back down at his plate but Jim can feel the silence is only a ruse, Spock is expecting him to speak and the weight of his attention makes Jim's words catch in his throat. What is he even going to say? How can he even broach this topic with David? Pursing his lips, Jim takes another bite of his food, stalling. It's only when he receives a second nudge, this one harder from the Vulcan's pointed toe, Jim gives up the fight and puts his fork down, leaning back in his seat with a tired look directed at Spock. _'Alright, fine...you win.'_ , he thinks, hoping Spock picks up on it from the narrowing of his eyes and he swears Spock looks satisfied as he returns to eating his dinner again. 

"Hey uh, David...?" Jim prompts, catching his son's attention. Blue eyes lift from his plate and David sets his fork down, expression curious but still somehow sullen with his lips turned down and his eyes baleful. "You know I love you, right?" Jim starts, cutting through the awkward feeling in his guts that tells him he's a pansy. Pushing that thought aside, he knows it's only Frank's influence that makes him have those thoughts as he reaches out, nudging David's shoulder lightly to get a response out of him. 

David nods, "Yeah." He murmurs, blinking up at Jim. 

"So you also know that those things about me on the news feeds...?" Jim winces, reaching for his water but unable to bring it to his lips for a sip, simply twisting his glass around where it rests on the table. "You know they aren't the truth, right?" 

David squints a little, studying Jim closely, probably wondering where the hell this conversation is going. 

"You know that I was the Captain of the _Enterprise_ before I came back here to take care of you, right?" Jim prompts. 

"Yeah," David murmurs, looking down at his plate. 

"The same ship that Spock is captain of right now?" Jim adds, to which David nods. "You also know that...your mother never told me about you, right?" 

David's brows begin to furrow in the first signs of distress and Jim pushes his chair back from the table, turning his body to face David more fully before continuing, "You know that...if I had known about you, I would have never gone into space...right?" 

Blue eyes snap towards Jim's face, startled. Jim chews on his bottom lip before continuing, reaching out to rest a hand on the table between himself and his son, feeling Spock's eyes watching from across the table. 

"If I had known I had a son...I would have stayed here, to take care of you with your mother." 

"But...then you would have never met Spock." David argues softly, and Jim glances at the Vulcan in question, seeing those brown eyes soften at David's remark. 

"No, I wouldn't have...but I guess the point I'm trying to make here is that you've always come first, son. When that lawyer told me I had you to come back here to, I left on the earliest shuttle I could find that would bring me back to Earth so I could meet you." David's eyes glance toward Spock, who nods, reaffirming Jim's words. 

"But why...?" David asks, a confused frown marring his expression. "You were a captain, you had to be a captain." 

"But I had to be a father first." Jim murmured, "Because I would never have been able to live with myself knowing I had missed out on a chance at being with you." 

David's head lowers, his hair shadowing his face and eyes from Jim's view. Getting out of his seat, Jim squats down on the floor next to David's chair and rests a hand on his son's knee, "Because you're more important to me, David. I left because I chose to, not because I was forced to." 

David's arms lift suddenly from his sides a moment later, wrapping around Jim's neck tightly as his son embraces him, pressing his face in against Jim's shoulder. Grunting at the sudden force of David's onslaught, Jim slowly straightens up, dragging his son up out of his chair and holding him like he hasn't done since his son was six. He is much heavier now than he had been two years ago, but Jim manages as he supports his son's weight through his tears, soft hiccuping sobs stabbing at his heart with each shuddering breath from the thin body pressed against his own. "It's alright kiddo...let it out." Jim murmurs, dipping his chin down to kiss the back of his son's head. "I've got'cha." 

Eventually, Jim sits back down in his seat at the table with David in his lap, leaning back against the chair and stroking his son's hair loosely, gazing across the table at Spock. The Vulcan has stopped eating as well and is simply watching the scenario unfold, his expression thoughtful and eyes pained. It seems David's cries weren’t only affecting Jim. After a while, David's sobs calm down to soft sniffles and Jim peeks down at him, watching his son sit up and rub at his eyes in some agitation. "Why don't you go wash your face and blow your nose? I'll re-heat your dinner, okay?" With a small nod from David, Jim scoots back to let his son down and waits until he is out of earshot. Grimacing, he lifts his eyes toward Spock. "Was that okay, you think?" Jim asks, feeling a little nervous about the whole exchange. It wouldn't stop the other kids from bullying David, but at least it would give his child the strength and knowledge to realize that the statements of others were not true. 

"I believe he is more at peace now, James." Spock murmurs, picking up his fork and resuming his meal. Jim has lost his appetite though and he picks up both his and David's plates, carrying them into the kitchen. His own food goes into a container for later while David's goes straight into the microwave. While waiting for the food to reheat, he thinks about his own problems during his childhood. There had been bullies, sure, but Jim had always played it off as nothing while building a hard defensive shell around himself. He knew he had a hardened heart, had always had one in fact since Frank had come along. You sort of became numb to the insults of others that way, blocking it all out, telling yourself it didn't hurt or affect you until you actually believed it. It wasn't a good way to grow up, and it certainly wasn't a good way to foster your own relationships. There was no way in hell Jim wanted David to grow up that way; stunted. Perhaps a talk with David's teacher was in order... 

"Jim?" Spock's voice from the dining room shocks Jim out of his reverie, only now noticing that the microwave had dinged some time ago and he reaches for David's dinner, carrying it back to the table.

"Sorry...was thinking about...something." Jim mumbles, waving a dismissive hand through the air and sitting back down at the table. David rejoins them and they finish, Jim drawing his son out into conversation again, asking him about his wishes for his birthday in a little over a week. 

Later that night while Jim and Spock are readying themselves for bed, each taking turns over the sink in their bathroom brushing their teeth and rinsing their faces under the faucet Jim speaks up, "This whole mess made me realize something," he begins, hesitating so long that Spock lowers his hands from his face where he had been patting himself dry with a hand towel. 

"What did you realize, Jim?" Spock prompts him, giving Jim no choice to back out now that he's answered. 

"That I don't want David to grow up like I did." Jim sighs, carding his fingers back through his hair and backing up to park his butt down on the edge of the tub. "Hard of heart...jaded, I guess." Jim winces. 

"I see." Spock says, folding the hand towel back onto its hook by the sink. "And what has brought you to this conclusion?" 

"I guess it just made me think about all the times I've shut you out, all the things I do and say out of defensiveness because I'm scared...or fucking stupid." Jim mutters, "like today, at the grocery store when you mentioned wanting to open that joint account?" Jim looks away, shame coloring his face pink, "I realized that I was still kind of waiting for you to back off, you know?" 

"I do not understand..." Spock begins, moving to join Jim on the edge of the tub but not touching him, knowing better than to initiate contact with Jim until he's gotten his point across, for which Jim is grateful. "Please clarify?" 

"I guess a part of me was always thinking that I was still going to screw this up. I remember what you said back in Iowa, before you left...about how you knew this was going to last and that your feelings would never, you know, disappear?" Jim flaps a hand through the air before bringing it up to slide down the side of his face, quelling the urge to hide himself from Spock's keen gaze. "I guess you asking to become more a... well, more a part of this family I guess, makes me realize that you're really not going anywhere." Jim huffs lightly but the laughter falls flat, "That I'm not the only one hoping this is going to last." 

Spock's lips are gentle when they brush against Jim's temple, making him blink in surprise at his Vulcan lover. "Of course not, James," Spock confirms, voice gentle yet firm, "I believe the term you've used is...'you are now stuck with me'?" 

Jim does laugh this time, soft and full of relief as he leans into Spock's side, settled by the arm that moves around his shoulders, cradling him. "Sounds great, Spock," He says, smiling down at his hands. "So I guess we really do have all the time in the world, huh?" 

"Yes," Spock says, the corners of his lips flickering into an aborted smile, making Jim's heart flutter in his chest. Later that night, when David crawls into their bed again seeking the comfort of their presence, Jim doesn't blame him or even mind, he just draws his son into his arms while he is still allowed the pleasure.


	5. Reaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we follow our three boys to the Welcoming Gala event in celebration of the return of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ and her crew. Both Jim and Spock meet figures they had no expected to be in attendance and David gets an unexpected night out with the bridge crew, leaving Jim and Spock alone...finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, after a long week of waiting! I hope you guys had a good one, for mine was rather hectic. It took me a while to get this chapter out because it is a monster of a chapter (roughly 20K). I also want to mention that I am no expert when it comes to Starfleet protocols or regulations, and I am not an expert in making speeches either. So what I have written is my version of the best scenarios I could imagine. Hopefully it will do. 
> 
> I want to thank my beta reader, [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate) for all her unfailing attention and support for my fic. She helped me research the things I needed for this chapter, which saved me some time and gave me encouragement. However, any and all mistakes found throughout this chapter (which is huge and bless her heart for getting through its edits so fast) are mine, for I always make a final read through before posting my chapters. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter to both [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCAdYmwFIrs) song called _'Best Day of My Life (Just a Gent Remix)'_ by **American Authors** , and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAwYodrBr2Q) song entitled _'Wait'_ by **M83**. You are welcome to listen to these two songs while reading my fic, I hope they can enhance the experience for you. 
> 
> Also, I wish to make it clear that this fiction, while being about the relationship between Kirk and Spock, is also about the relationships between our two boys and David. Due to this fic having a child in it, I wanted to make the more intimate scenes between Spock and Jim a little more classy. I have toned down the explicitness (however this story is still rated explicit, just in case) and I'm sorry if this disappoints any readers, but I decided to focus on a more emotional aspect of Jim and Spock's intimate reunion. This story isn't about the sex y'all, I hope you guys can still enjoy it and love it for what it is. 
> 
> Alright, I think I've said enough, haha! Please let me know what you guys think! <3

**Captain Spock and Lieutenant Kirk**

Fan-art by ChemicalOrgasm

"Shit, Spock can you come in here a minute?" Jim's agitated voice rises from their shared bathroom, alerting Spock to the fact that his beloved still cannot sufficiently tie a necktie. Spock enters their bathroom to find Jim slumped on the edge of the bath tub, his tuxedo pants hiked up to show his black socks beneath, arms crossed over his knees in annoyed frustration.

"Do you require my assistance?" Spock inquires, causing Jim to glower. 

"If I had to wear these things all the time, I would know how to tie one by now but-" Jim trails off as he lifts his head, taking note of Spock's sleep pants and sweater. "Spock, what the hell? You're not even dressed yet? It took me ten minutes just to stuff myself into this penguin suit, what have you been doing?" Standing, he lifts his chin, giving Spock the room he needs to fit his fingers around the tails of his necktie. 

"I have been instructing your son in how to properly tie his own tie, Jim." Spock informs his partner, receiving a bland look for his efforts. "As it will only take me 5.73 minutes to ready myself, I concluded that it would be more logical to assist David and yourself in preparing for the ceremony." 

"You'd think I was the one having to get up on stage, I'm so fuckin' nervous. Are you nervous?" Jim squints at him. 

"Negative," Spock intones softly, finishing straightening Jim's tie and stepping back, smoothing his hands down Jim's shoulders to brush lint off his suit jacket. "Vulcans do not experience nerves." 

"Uh-huh..." Jim says, but Spock doesn't miss his lover's rolling eyes, "So you're not nervous that you're about to deliver a speech in front of over a thousand people?" 

"I am not, Jim. I believe that you are instead trying to reflect your own nervousness upon me." Spock replies, closing the bathroom door and sliding his sweater off over his head.

"I _am_ nervous Spock, this will be the first Starfleet function I'll have taken David to. Not only that but...there'll be press there." Jim grimaces, fidgeting with his tie in the mirror, pushing it this way and that until he is satisfied it is straight. "I'm afraid David will be too overwhelmed by it all." 

"He will have friends amongst the strangers Jim, or do you forget your former bridge crew?" Spock asks, disrobing before the shower stall and hearing something clatter in the sink. When he looks back, Jim is red-faced and picking up his toothbrush and toothpaste from the sink bowl, decidedly not meeting Spock's eyes in the reflection of the mirror. 

"So is this a promotional ceremony or what? When Bones was talking about it over the phone, he made it sound like just one big celebration because you've all returned. A commemoration for the officers that didn't," Jim adds, tossing a fresh towel over the edge of the shower stall within Spock's reach as the water hisses on, clouds of steam already fogging the glass.

Spock's tone is light as it filters out from the shower stall behind Jim, "I am uncertain." He says simply, but Jim scents a lie in there. Spock would know full well what this gala is for, but he isn't letting on to anything and Jim huffs an annoyed breath. 

"Well, either way," he says, "we're celebrating tonight. I don't care if we have to find a babysitter; I'm tired of tip-toeing." 

Spock's hand wipes across the glass, clearing the steam away and revealing his face and one arched brow, "'Tip-toeing', Jim?" 

"I love the kid, but he's a real cock-block sometimes..." Jim mutters under his breath, ignoring his partner's stare as he exits the bathroom. He leaves Spock to finish getting ready, snags his own coat off the end of the bed and shrugs it on. Downstairs, David is sitting up at the kitchen bar with Jim's PADD on the counter, his suit jacket on the chair next to him. Jim had bought the thing as a set nearly a year ago so they could attend a friend's wedding and already David had almost grown out of it, the pants fitting a little too snugly around the thighs and the blazer tight about the shoulders. But David hadn't complained yet, so Jim was planning on letting him wear it as long as he could. 

"Are you all set?" Jim asks, catching his son's attention. David raises his face and Jim purses his lips, "Maybe we ought to gel your hair back a little." David's answering grin makes Jim nod. "Yeah, definitely some gel." He pauses in fussing with his own attire, running his hands around his waist to make sure his shirt is fully tucked in and adjusting the cummerbund above the waistline of his pants. 

"Can you make my hair look like yours?" David asks, sliding down off the bar-stool, his tie thrown over one shoulder. David hated ties and often twisted them around to lie over his shoulder and out of his way and Jim sighs at the sight, stooping to pull it free and smooth it down over his son's chest. 

"We can sure try, but your hair is a bit longer than mine buddy." Jim explains, dusting the white sleeves of David's button down shirt with his hands and catching his son's wrists, making sure the buttons are done up correctly. "How does the vest feel?" 

David shrugs, looking down at the grey vest and fidgeting as Jim unbuttons it to shove the tie back into place behind it. "S'fine." He pouts. 

"Keep the tie where it's supposed to be tonight, alright David? At least until we've left the event." Jim commands softly, standing up and turning toward the stairs. On his way up, he passes Snowy sitting on the landing and shouts down the stairs toward David, "And feed the cat!" 

Back in the bedroom, Jim ducks past the door in a hurry, but comes to a rapid stand-still upon seeing the uniformed figure standing before the balcony doors across the room. He straightens; a flood of...something filling him. He can't fully distinguish all the things he feels at seeing Spock clad in his dress uniform, but having seen him in it all week hasn't lessened the punch it delivers every time. Pursing his lips, he blows a long, slow breath out past them. He knows Spock is aware of his presence, but the Vulcan doesn't shift, his head regally facing forward, hair combed down in absolute perfection. 

Biting his lip, Jim forces his emotions down and walks toward the bathroom, quickly finding his hair gel on the back of the sink and pausing in the doorway to look at his lover once more. Spock's head turns, fathomless eyes catching on Jim's expression. His shoulders are straight, back stiff and hands loosely linked behind him. The broad expanse of his chest is outlined by the precise lines of the uniform and Jim wants nothing but to run his hands down that sleek torso. He swallows instead, idly tapping the gel bottle in his hand. "Just, uh...coming up here for some gel," He explains stupidly, licking his lower lip, mouth suddenly dry at being faced with the very real image of one Captain Spock. The pips on his shoulders glisten, shined within an inch of their life, as well as the insignia on Spock's chest, joined today by a gold pin depicting a circle with a triangle pointing to its center. 

Jim frowns, moving forward and motioning with the gel bottle at Spock's chest and the unknown insignia. "What's that?" He questions, noticing now that a small, glittering white gem holds the center of the symbol. 

Spock lowers his eyes, glancing down at the symbol before explaining, "This is the Vulcan symbol for IDIC." At Jim's confused stare, he continues; "'Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations'." Spock tilts his head, shifting his hands forward, his hat grasped in his fingers. "It is the ultimate philosophy amongst Vulcan culture, celebrating the infinite amount of variables in the universe." 

"Huh," Jim murmurs, smiling, "seems appropriate then, that you would be wearing it Spock." 

Spock inclines his head, acknowledging the truth of Jim’s statement, "Kol-Ut-Shan is wholly logical, especially for tonight." 

"Well, you look..." Jim trails off, his eyes wandering over Spock's frame once again, this time taking a slower circuit over the Vulcan's form. He appreciates the way the pants hug Spock's legs and he remembers well how they fit against his own legs, how they look from behind... 

Shaking himself free of that line of thought, Jim glances at the chronometer behind Spock on the nightstand and grimaces, "We're going to be late." 

"Negative," Spock murmurs, "we have plenty of time, Jim." 

"Dad, your PADD is dying!" David crows from the bottom of the stairs, jarring them both out of their solitary moment of peace. 

"Coming!" Jim shouts back, making Spock's eyes close in pain at the volume of his voice. "C'mon, before the kid leaves without us." Smirking, Jim hurries downstairs again, popping the cap off his gel and squeezing some out into his palm. Setting the bottle aside, he bends down toward David, rubbing his hands together before running them through is son's wild hair. Together, they manage to tame it back into a kind of swooping style similar to Jim's, or similar to how Jim's hair used to look before he cut it to regulation length again. 

"There, now get your jacket on so we can go." Jim says, snagging his keys from the bowl in the hallway and pausing at the mirror over the fireplace to mess with his own hair a little, brushing at it with his fingers. Straightening, he rolls his shoulders back and buttons the front of his coat, smoothing a hand down over the black fabric and into his pants pocket. "Who's driving, am I driving or are you driving?" Jim asks Spock as they file down the stairs and into the garage. 

"I will drive James, given you are in an agitated state." Spock says, snagging the keys from Jim's pinching fingers and earning a glare from his partner. 

"I'm not _agitated_." Jim mutters, sliding into the passenger seat with David clamoring into the back seat behind him. 

"You are experiencing higher levels of anxiety this evening than you have experienced previously. Is that not an agitated state?" Spock argues, winning the tiny argument when Jim elects to change the subject instead. 

"David, did you feed Snowy?" 

"Yes," David's bored tone answers from the back seat. 

"And did you plug the PADD into its charging dock?" Jim asks as he buckles his seat belt into place. 

" _Yes_." David mutters, receiving a look in the rear-view mirror for his attitude. 

"What is troubling you?" Spock asks solemnly, backing the vehicle out onto the street, the light from the street lamps casting their features into orange and black shadows. 

"It's nothing..." David murmurs evading Spock's prying in the same manner as his father would. "Will Nyota be there?" David asks softly. 

Jim smirks from the front seat, "Yeah, and so will Bones and Scotty, Chekov and Sulu too." Jim casts Spock a knowing glance, because his son is nervous too. These are people David and Jim haven’t seen for over three years and the restless energy in the car is palpable; probably annoying the hell out of Spock too. 

"Will we be sitting with them?" David inquires, hinting at his excitement by the forced detachment in his tone. 

"Possibly, I don't know kid." Jim mumbles, shifting Spock's cap off the dashboard to rest on the center console instead, a safer place for it to sit as they cruise into the city. Apartments and suburban homes transition into places of business and eventually into taller skyscrapers as they travel toward the downtown area. "It's weird that this isn't happening on Starfleet grounds." Jim points out, attempting to draw Spock out of his introspective silence. He is no doubt running over his speech in his mind, fully committed to that perfect memory of his. "I haven't known Starfleet to rent out ballrooms for events; do they expect us to dance?" He snorts, grinning across at Spock. 

"I believe they were attempting to have enough room for the individuals of the _Enterprise_ 's crew, as well as enough space for their families to attend." Spock explains. 

"Let’s not forget the affiliated press, too." Jim mutters under his breath, not looking forward to the probable assault of their questions in the near future. 

It takes them twenty minutes to get to the access road that takes them behind the large building Starfleet has rented for the event, tasteful digital signs advertising the ceremony as a big 'Welcome Home' to the _Enterprise_ crew and friends. This portion of the city is lit up with blinking, flashing advertisements, the tall buildings a patchwork of billboards and holo screens depicting several products as well as running local news feeds. Jim sees images of the _Enterprise_ flash across the screen as well as images of her Captain, his Vulcan's severe face nearly three stories tall on the digital displays. Each screen has a ticker-tape at the bottom, reading: _'Tonight, we celebrate the safe return of the Flagship_ Enterprise _and her crew at the Barkley Meeting Hall, tune in tonight at seven for the Admiral's address._. 

Admiral Komack's face appears amongst photographs and video shots in real time streaming from the event. Everyone is all bright smiles and David pipes up from the back seat, "Hey, it's Sulu!" He points at one of the flashing screens above them and Jim tilts his head to see, watching his friend displayed larger than life talking to a reporter, his words muted with subtitles flashing beneath him: 

Interviewer: _'What was it like serving under Captain Spock, sir?'_

Sulu: _'Oh, it was great, he's a fine Captain.'_ His eyes turn out toward the viewer, his smile bright, eyes squinting in the bright flashes and lights of holo cameras and reporters. _'It's been an honor to serve with him; an amazing opportunity.'_

Interviewer: _'And who did it better, the former Captain Kirk, or Captain Spock?'_

Sulu: _'No comment!'_ Sulu says with a beaming, slightly embarrassed smile before leaning into the woman's wired recorder, _'That one's for you Jim.'_

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, Jim settles in the passenger seat, the processional line of cars inching forward ahead of them. He glances at Spock but the Vulcan is staring ahead out the windshield, probably steeling himself for the chaos and press of bodies about to hit them in just a few minutes. A valet is there to take their car for parking and when they are one vehicle away from departing, Jim hands Spock his cap with a slight smile. "It'll be fine..." He says with a gentle squeeze over his lover's arm, his heart squeezing tight in his chest when Spock ducks his head to slip the cap on casting his eyes into shadow beneath its black brim. When he lifts his head again, he is beyond stoic, his features schooled into careful impassivity, their car inching forward to stop before the press of bodies all crowded around the entrance to Barkley Hall. 

The city police have blocked off two lanes of traffic for the event and Jim feels a little claustrophobic observing all the flashing holo cameras and the excited citizens pressing up against the plexiglass fences erected to keep them at bay. A few reporters are lingering on the walkway leading up to the building however and when Jim leans forward to take a look out Spock's window, he can see them talking animatedly with other members of the crew and well-known politicians and Starfleet brass. "It's game time..." Jim murmurs with a smirk. "We're ready to be your plus one," he chuckles, "or plus two, I guess." 

With a glance into the back seat, Jim can already tell that David is losing control over his nerves, no longer feigning boredom and instead looking with wide eyes out his window at the Starfleet security personnel posted as guards at intervals throughout the walkway. 

"Hey buddy," Jim has to snap his fingers to get David's attention, finally having his son's eyes turn his way, "you stay close to me, don't leave my side unless I say it's okay, alright?" David nods mutely, beginning to fidget with his appearance and tugging at his tie a little. 

Their car comes to a stop and Spock powers it down briefly, overriding the security code to allow a valet to take control of it for parking, his fingers stabbing at the subroutine on the center console. "I suppose we should have rented something flashier, huh?" Jim mutters with a crooked smile at his partner just before Spock's door is opened by the valet. And just like that, they are engulfed in a wall of sound. 

Holo cameras flash and voices pick up in volume as Spock turns his head away from Jim, looking out at the crowd before finally moving after an awkward pause. He unfolds from the driver's seat, stepping out onto the steel grey carpet rolled out onto the street for guest's arrival. Jim takes his cue a little slower, motioning David to get out on the opposite side with him rather than straight into the line of fire as reporters all descend at once. Recorders and mics are being pressed toward Spock as he faces their greetings and questions, his face brightly lit and already streaming over the live feeds behind them in the street. 

Jim and David hang back as the valet drives their car away, and as they keep to Spock's back, Jim grasps his son's shoulder, more to reassure himself than to comfort his son as the crowds suddenly seem to notice them. The questions change as Spock tilts his body suggestively, reaching out with a hovering hand behind Jim's back in an effort to keep them as one unit traversing the walkway up to the building. Holo cameras flash; bright lights making it nearly impossible to see without colored spots dancing in Jim's vision. David squints painfully in front of him, his body positioned right up against Jim's legs. 

A touch across the back of Jim's hand catches him momentarily off guard and his eyes flick to Spock's, wide and shocked as he feels the link that has been softly muted since Spock's return open at the touch, Spock's voice entering his mind louder than any of the reporters shouting at them.

 _'Keep moving, small steps. Our goal is the front doors where the crowds are more manageable.'_

Jim blinks and the three of them shuffle forward, forced smiles on their faces. Well, on Jim and David's faces anyway, Spock's remains impassive and somewhat severe, and he ducks his head so the visor of his cap casts a shadow across his eyes, their brown depths flashing down at Jim in a secret glance. _'Well, hello to you too...after all these years.'_ Jim's smile brightens into a huge grin, elated to feel Spock's closeness in more than just the press of their bodies as he keeps to Spock's side, his Vulcan lover's mind almost like a physical presence tingling at the base of Jim's skull. He shivers at the feeling, but won't allow himself to become distracted by it as a recorder is shoved in his face. 

"Mr. Kirk! How does it feel to be back in Starfleet? Care to discuss with us your plans for the future?" A woman with a tight bun of hair at the back of her head asks this question with fever bright eyes, like a shark scenting blood in the water. 

"Uh, not at this time," Jim says, waving a dismissive hand at her recorder, glad to be rid of her when she steps back with a nod, only to be replaced by another reporter. Their questions are both personal and professional and Jim realizes that their tactic is to try and catch him off guard. 

_"Kirk, Kirk! Who's the kid?"_

"How's it feel to be back in Starfleet, Mr. Kirk?"

"Is it true you and the Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise _are in an intimate relationship?"_

_"Can we expect you to Captain again, Mr. Kirk?"_

_"Who's child is that?"_

_"Captain, Captain! Is it true you and James Kirk have a son together?"_

That last one really makes Jim blink in confusion, because how could he and Spock have a kid together period? For one, they're both male...aren't people more familiar with Vulcan biology than to ask such a stupid question? Eventually, the riff-raff of public reporters is urged back by Starfleet security and Jim, Spock, and David are able to move unhampered down the carpet toward the Hall. However, as the crowd behind the glass fences thins, a different kind of set up reveals itself in a bend along the path. They walk right onto what appears to be a set of some kind with a backdrop depicting an image of space taken from the _Enterprise_ , a large ion storm shown in all it's colorful, dangerous glory. 

A man in a suit stops them with a respectful hand raised, a headset with a flesh-colored mic set upon his head as he motions them in, a wide smile on his face big enough to crack his cheeks no doubt. "Captain Spock and friends, how nice to see you back on Earth, safe and sound." The man says in greeting and it's in that moment that Jim recognizes this guy. He's been a popular talk-show host on the media feeds since the last five years and Jim stiffens a little, knowing how valued this guy's opinion is to the public. If he makes a fool of himself now, not only would he make himself look bad, but his actions would reflect on Spock's own public perception. "I'm Carson Wells with _Popular News_ , would you gentlemen be alright with answering a few questions tonight?"

Jim glances at Spock, who removes his hat out of respect, raising his gleaming head under the bright stage lights hanging from a suspended grid built into a part of the set. There aren't any chairs, but a stationary camera crew films them from the other side of the widened walkway. "I would not be adverse to answering your questions, given they are of a respectful nature." 

Mr. Wells smiles in an accommodating manner, shaking his head and shuffling his paper speech cards in his hands, "Of course, Captain. I won't ask you to air your dirty laundry." He laughs, receiving a puzzled and unamused slant of Spock's brow in reply. "First off," Wells continues, "who are your guests?" He smiles, stepping in close toward their little group and looking down at David, who half turns into Jim's steadying hand still resting on his shoulder. 

Spock settles his hands behind his back, gearing up to make his replies, and Jim suddenly desperately misses the light contact of his hand where it had rested in the center of his back. "This is Lieutenant Kirk and his son David." Spock replies, which makes David straighten in an effort to look proud and confident as Spock introduces him. Thoughts of fame are probably tumbling around in his overwhelmed mind right now and Jim hopes David’s appearance amongst well-known people like Spock might win him some respect from his classmates in the future. After all, this is no doubt being streamed live across all the popular news feeds. 

"Well hello! Fancy seeing you back here, Lieutenant." Wells crows, grinning at Jim before his attention shifts to David. "How old are you David?" The mic gets held out toward Jim's son and he feels David tense again, squeezing his son's shoulder gently. 

"I'm eight and a half." David says, his voice clear but soft, causing a pang in Jim's chest. His son sounds so damn cute when he's nervous. 

"Eight and a _half_ , almost nine!" Wells says, knowing how to charm kids, since David smiles and nods. "Now, Captain...is it true that you and the Lieutenant are actually living together now?" 

Jim blinks, because goddamn news traveled fast. Spock's voice is steady when he replies, "That is correct." Jim holds back a wince, because did they need the world knowing everything about them? Before they knew it, they were going to be like some celebrity couple. 

"Interesting, interesting," Wells murmurs, nodding his head and glancing at Jim, "it seems you've made yourself a little family here then, that is if the rumors can be believed. I think I read in some trashy magazines somewhere that you two are lovers?" 

Jim does wince this time, because that was entirely his fault and he was going to have to buy every single one of those gossip mongering magazines now and burn them. Spock handles things far better than Jim was about to however, the Vulcan's brow lifting, "The nature of our relationship is no secret, Mr. Wells. However, I had thought you might acquire such information more tastefully." 

_Ouch!_ Damn, Spock had a mean streak! Completely blind-sided, Jim gawks at his lover, completely missing Wells' reaction as the man actually flushes, having the sense of self to seem apologetic. "So...the rumors are true then?" Wells blinks, trying to keep the subject matter moving even though he had just been insulted. 

"Uh yeah," Jim speaks up for the first time since this little interview began, leaning toward the man's mic as it is directed toward him, "sorry all you hopefuls out there...he's been off the market for a while now." David reacts like any kid would to hearing about his parent's love life by scowling up at him and Jim smirks at his son's disgust. The kid didn't mind having Spock around, didn't mind that his father and Spock were even in a relationship, but as a kid, he probably preferred not to have to hear about it in public. After all, it might be a point of teasing by his school mates. 

"Oh-ho! Did you hear that ladies and gentlemen?" Wells turns to face the camera recording this exchange, "Thank you for your time gentlemen," he says, but as soon as his back is turned from the camera, his smile fades and he steps back, waving them off the set with a lingering, wary look at Spock. 

Replacing his hat upon his head, Spock takes the lead up the walkway again, Jim trailing behind with David beside him. David looks up, confused, "why are they making such a big deal out of you guys being together anyway?" 

Jim grimaces a little, "well, it used to be taboo, there is a no fraternization rule in Starfleet and they like to speculate, I suppose." 

"Oh, that's dumb." David mutters, making Jim smile at him. 

"I know, right? Let people love who they want..." He grumbles, "I suppose it's still a little bit of an issue, being that Spock holds the rank of Captain and I'm a Lieutenant now."

"Why did you get demoted Dad?" David asks as they pause for more holographs, posing in a line with David positioned in front of them. Jim's smile brightens considerably when Spock's hand rests on David's shoulder opposite his own for a picture, that presence in the back of his mind tingling again with fresh glee. When they are walking again, Jim answers his son's earlier question. "Well, when I left Starfleet, I resigned completely, which means I stepped down and lost my position of rank. When I re-entered, I was given a rank again to recognize my skill level and experience, but since I work in a specialty field, I most-likely won't move past the rank of Lieutenant." Jim explains, making his son frown. 

"That's also dumb." He grumbles with some disappointment in his voice, making Jim want to scruff his hair affectionately. 

"I don't need rank to get things done in my line of work, kiddo. After all, rank just means more responsibility. I think Spock only likes being Captain because he likes to throw his weight around on the bridge." Jim grins, teasing Spock, who he knows can hear him over the crowd.

One brown eye glances back at him from under the shadowed brim of Spock's cap and Jim feels a swell of amusement and mischievousness in the back of his mind, echoing to him across their tenuous link. It is weak given that it hasn't been active for at least three years, but being in close proximity to Spock like this, the Vulcan's mind still reaches toward his across plains of familiarity. Jim can only imagine how strong their connection would be if they were actually bonded. 

Together, the three of them manage to get up the cement stairs leading to the doors of Barkley Hall mostly unmolested; passing stately stone pillars that tower some fifteen feet above their heads. The large doors to the hall are thrown open, allowing the cooler night air into the crowded space as they melt forward into the mass of people in the hallway. Closed doors bracket the walls every twenty feet and Jim can already tell that all these people are being funneled toward the wide reception hall which empties into a larger antechamber with more pillars ringing it on both sides, airy curtains made of Corinthian silks and satins hanging in Starfleet colors of red, black, and silver from the ceiling between each pillar. 

Standing clear of most of the people filing into the room, Jim takes it all in, lifting his head toward the ceiling high above them, the lights comfortably low, lending a kind of intimacy to the whole affair, even with the vibrant electricity lying in an undercurrent throughout the great hall. Looking out across the room, Jim can't even count all the circular tables throughout the room, all draped in white cloths with flickering candle flames and watery center pieces on them; bowls full of white water lilies. Toward the front of the room lies a stage, a podium positioned and empty at the head of it with a semi-circle of chairs curving about the back of the dais. Above the stage is a constant, running feed of the interviews mingled with holo camera feeds from around the whole establishment showing people's excited and smiling faces flashing on the wide screen. Jim sees a familiar face flash by, a camera catching Dr. McCoy looking both angry and overwhelmed, sipping a drink that looks to be a mint julep. How on earth could Jim get his hands on one of those? 

"Jim?" Spock's voice cuts through Jim's thoughts, making him stagger a half step to the side, Spock's raised brow causing him to flush with embarrassment at being caught like a kid gawking about the room. Speaking of kids...where was David? But one quick glance tells him they've been found by at least a few of their friends. Chekov and Sulu are talking to David, telling him he looks snazzy in his suit and about how they had seen him on the holo screen. 

"Sorry, I just...don't really know what's going on yet." Jim says with a rueful half smile, relief flooding him when a waiter bearing a hover-tray passes by them; he snags a flute of some kind of drink off the tray before the man can pass out of reach. Champagne maybe? He takes a sip; yep, definitely champagne. He glances down at David, "Hey kid, only water for you, you hear me?" He says, lifting his glass for David to see and recognize that not all drinks around here are kid-friendly. 

"Hey Dad, we're famous!" David says with a wide smile, making Sulu laugh. 

"Watch out, or your head won't fit through the door David." Sulu teases. 

"Huh?" David looks up at him, confused by the phrase. 

"C'mon, let’s not all just stand around here in front of the doors like idiots." Jim mutters, shooing his partner, David, Chekov, and Sulu to back up into the rest of the room. Most everyone is either sitting at a table or standing around between the tables conversing with one another and Jim sees a few more recognizable faces; a few professors he had suffered under at the academy as well as Admiral Pike, who abruptly ends a conversation with an Ensign to make his way toward their little group. 

Spock's hands automatically slide back to link behind him and Jim grins at his partner's reaction, just as Pike's hand claps down on his shoulder companionably. "Well if it isn't Starfleet's best and brightest!" He quips, but then his eyes slide down to regard David and the boisterousness of his tone calms a little, "Is this the young man I've heard so much about then?" 

David shuffles on his feet a little, looking both embarrassed and pleased at the same time as Jim ushers him a step closer toward Pike, "This is my son David." 

"So I finally get to meet the young man who's made you a better person." Pike says with a smirk, "Can't say I blame you for leaving us four years ago Jim, though I wish you had told me the reason at the time. It's good to finally meet you David," Pike smiles and shifts his drink to his other hand, offering David his other for a handshake. David stares at it in awe for a second before taking it, pumping the Admiral's hand excitedly. 

"And if he's half as much a handful as you were Jim, I'd say you've got a full plate." Pike teases, amusement making his eyes glint in the low light of the hall. 

"He's a good kid, Pike." Jim murmurs with an affectionate glance down at his son. 

"Well, that's good to hear." Pike says with a soft sigh before the rim of his champagne flute, "Because I'd hate for you to get what's comin' to you." He says sarcastically and smirks. Jim snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. 

"So you two are officially living together now, huh?" Sulu pipes up from their small circle, holding a glass of champagne himself, having stolen it from Chekov despite the Russian kid's protests that he is of age to drink now. 

"Affirmative," Spock replies before Jim can voice his agreement, "We have a dwelling together not far from the city." 

"That's great." Sulu grins, "I've been looking for a place myself, at least something temporary until our next mission." He glances at Chekov, "I think the kid and I will have to find a place together, rent here isn't cheap." 

"I am sure Starfleet will provide you both with adequate housing in the interim between missions." Spock replies, making Pike roll his eyes. 

"Yeah, but they'd probably be better off finding a place on their own, Starfleet doesn't exactly have the funds for anything more than functionality and I can promise you Lieutenant," Pike turns to Sulu, addressing him directly, "Starfleet won't put you up in anything better than a shoe-box. Not right now anyway, we're not as rich as we used to be around here." 

Chekov casts Sulu a furtive glance, "Ve were considering a place on Jackson Awenue." 

Distantly, Jim notices that Chekov's accent isn't as thick as it had been three years ago and he smiles at what has evidently been the crew's influence on the young man, "Hey, I know where that is." He nods, "good neighborhood, nice apartments." 

They are interrupted by a grouchy voice to their right, "So this is where ya'll are hidin', no one thought to comm me so I could be a part of the group, huh?" Bones edges his way into their group, leaning forward to sling an arm around Jim, dragging him into an awkward, one-armed hug with his mint julep canted out to the side and out of the way. "Hey Jimmy." he says with a wide smile belying his sour attitude. "It's been too long." He huffs, squeezing Jim's shoulder before releasing him. 

"Hi, Bones!" David chimes in from Jim's side, catching the doctor's attention immediately and making his smile widen. 

"Well I'll be, if it isn't the little squirt. Not so little anymore are ya?" Bones shoves his drink into Jim's free hand, nearly making him fumble it so he can squat down and embrace the child. "How are ya kid? Been keeping in line and yellin' at your daddy?" He grins. 

"Yes, sir," David says brightly, lapping up the affection he is being given like a kid starved for it, basking in the attention of Jim's friends and former crew. 

"What'cha been up to then, still been readin' like a son-of-a-gun?" Bones asks, effectively drawing David into conversation as the rest of their little group talks idly, catching up. 

"We'll have to put something together after this; we all have a lot to talk about. Three years is a long time." Jim mutters, catching a familiar eye from a few tables away. Uhura gracefully rises from her chair at one of the front tables, Scotty not far behind as they both take notice of their group of friends. 

"Jim!" She beams when she reaches them, "My god, it's been forever." She gushes, wrapping Jim up in an unexpected hug, rocking from side to side before pulling away and grasping his arms, leaning back to take a look at him. "So it's true, you're back in Starfleet again. That's really great, Jim." 

"What, you think I was lying to Spock?" Jim frowns, lifting his glass toward his lips for another sip. 

"Well, I don't know...it's easy to lie to people when there's whole quadrants between you." She narrows her eyes accusingly at Jim but her smile doesn't falter, turning her statement into a tease. 

"So you're in Engineerin' now, ey?" Scotty says from behind Uhura, drinking from a glass full of Saurian brandy.

Where was everyone getting these other drinks, and where could Jim gets his hands on a brandy, he wondered. "Yep, working in an official capacity now, outfitting ships." Jim says with a content smile. 

"Aye, seems right up your street, if you doon't mind me sayin'." Scotty says, lifting his glass in a light-hearted salute. "How's the little lad?" He asks eyes straying toward David now excitedly talking to Uhura. 

"Thanks Scotty, and he's well." Jim murmurs, realizing that their group has grown enough to attract the attention of some floating reporters, their holo cameramen trailing behind them. "Shit, we've got to scatter guys, or we'll be surrounded by reporters here soon." Jim warns, glancing at Spock who is quietly conversing with Pike in such a low tone that Jim can't even begin to hear what they're saying.

Pike leaves their group with a light slap to the back of Spock's shoulder, knowing the Vulcan well enough to be comfortable with the gesture, "It'll be fine Spock, you worry too much. Now if you will all excuse me, I've got to do my job." 

The rest of them melt away through the tables, trying to find their assigned seats. Jim and Spock come to a table with Spock's name labeled clearly on a card at the center, but much to their surprise, the table is already occupied. Jim freezes, his whole body growing cold when he sees who is sitting there. "Mom..." Jim blurts, the word sounding foreign coming out of his mouth. David looks up, confusion plain on his face. 

Winona Kirk stands up from her seat at the table, dressed in a deep blue dress with a shawl about her shoulders; her hair is pulled back severely from her face, lending a serious air to her. "Jimmy..." She starts, wide eyes wandering over his face before flitting down to David, shock parting her lips. "So it is true then..." 

"What are you doing here?" Jim frowns, finally getting a bit of himself back and shaking off the initial shock at seeing his mother again for the first time in nearly eight years. "Aren't you supposed to be on some outpost right now?" 

Her eyes narrow and she skirts the side of the table to approach Jim, showing that same irritation Jim still associates with her. It slides over his skin like a bitter, cool wind and he hates that it still affects him now, making him draw back and in on himself. "I was invited, and I had hoped you would be too, so I could see if the rumors are true." 

"What rumors?" Jim's eyes narrow right back at her, his own irritation flaring at her accusatory tone.

"The rumor about my son having a child he's never mentioned to me." Winona hisses, hurt and anger flaring in her blue eyes. 

"When would I have ever _mentioned_ him to you, mother?" Jim asks, spreading his hands out wide from his sides and nearly sloshing his champagne out of his glass, "we never speak!" 

"You could have called. I could have helped you out." She says, trying for a tone of hurt and only sounding bitter instead. 

"Right," Jim hisses, "because you helped _me_ out a whole lot when I was a kid." Jim scowls, his anger mounting toward a full blown rage, wanting to start a fight but knowing he shouldn't, not when there are reporters circling the whole event. 

The only thing that keeps him from lashing out at her is Spock's restraining hand as it comes to rest on his arm, forcing him to abort his movement to get into his mother's disappointed face and tell her just why he hadn't wanted her to be a part of David's life. 

"Perhaps now is not a good time to discuss these personal matters..." Spock warns gently, casting his eyes down at David's confused and uncertain features when Jim meets his glare. 

"No...no, you're right." As if to punctuate Spock's words, the lights about the room dim even further, letting people know that the ceremony is about to start. 

"If not now, when _will_ we talk about this, Jim?" Winona says heatedly, almost making Jim scoff. 

"Right," he snorts, " _now_ you want to talk. I can't deal with you right now, mom." He sighs, wiping a hand over his forehead and groaning internally at her untimely appearance into their lives. 

"Spock."

All three of them freeze this time as a firm, level voice catches all their attention, mostly that of Spock's. The Vulcan turns slowly, seeming to straighten exponentially with the movement until he is facing the stoic figure of his father. The older Vulcan is dressed in his ambassadorial robes, his hands folded loosely together before him, half hidden by the long sleeves of the robe. "Father..." Spock's voice isn't clipped, but if Jim had to describe it somehow, Spock seemed to regard his father with as much coolness as Jim regarded Winona. "I was unaware of your journey to Earth, when did you arrive?" 

Jim winces at the very proper, impassive way his Vulcan suddenly speaks, as if seeing his father for the first time in years has triggered this reaction in him. In truth, Spock hadn't seen his father since the destruction of Vulcan. Not since they both lost a wife and a mother. 

"I arrived in San Francisco seven point three-three hours ago." Sarek replies. 

Then Spock says something curious, tilting his head in confusion, his brows furrowing slightly, "Why?" 

Sarek seems taken aback by the question as well, because he blinks, the only outward expression of his confusion. "I have come to congratulate you on a successful mission." Sarek tips his head down, and somehow his tone softens and Jim swallows back a surge of sorrow when Sarek continues, "It is what...your mother would have wanted." The pause in his speech is enough to convince Jim that Sarek still deeply misses his wife and he looks toward his lover, hoping that the same conclusion is apparent to Spock as well. 

After a long, painful pause during which Jim wonders if Spock even believes what he has heard, Spock opens his mouth to say, "Thank you Father." 

"I also wished to extend my congratulations to your friend Kirk, for the addition to his family and his achievements in Starfleet." Sarek says a beat later, inclining his head toward David, who is staring with his mouth hanging open, probably shocked to see another Vulcan, one even older and more stoic than Spock. 

"Thank you." Jim says, realizing a reply is necessary when Sarek holds eye-contact with him for a moment longer than is comfortable, reaching down to urge David out from behind his hip. "This is David. David, this is Spock's father, Ambassador Sarek." 

"Nice...nice to meet you, sir," David murmurs, his hands rolling into fists and sliding behind his back, knowing better than to offer a handshake. Instead, Sarek raises the ta'al toward David, causing Jim's son to remember the greeting and hastily return it. 

"A pleasure," Sarek murmurs in return, making David smile hesitantly. "We must speak before I depart for the colony, Spock." He says, and Jim can feel Spock stiffen beside him, such a minute change that he hopes Sarek didn't notice it. 

"Of course, Father." Spock lowers his head, a submissive gesture Jim has never seen him do in such a manner, his shoulders lowered out of their ridged, proud level. It makes Jim reconsider Spock's relationship with Sarek. Perhaps the two of them have not resolved their conflicts with one another after all. Jim thought they would have at least tried after Amanda's death nearly five years ago. 

Before any more words can be spoken, Sarek passes them to take a seat at the table, and when Jim turns to find Winona, it's with relief that he notices she has left, probably super pissed about Jim ignoring her. "Christ," Jim mutters, "I didn't know today was going to be the whole goddamn family reunion." 

"Indeed, this is...unexpected." Spock replies but Jim can read between the lines, and what he really wants to say is, _'this is bullshit'_. That is, if Vulcans actually swore on a regular basis.

They awkwardly take seats at the table and Jim glances around the tables near them, noticing their friends seated with their own family and friends, Uhura at the table closest to them. She catches Jim's eye and makes an exaggerated grimace at him, no doubt having witnessed both painful exchanges. He shakes his head at her, a weary expression on his face. Across from Jim, Sarek is sipping an Altaire water. On his left, David looks like he's about to bolt and Jim doesn't blame him, since he and Sarek only have one chair separating them and conversation is rather stilted. Actually, nonexistent at this point. 

"Mind if we guys join ya? Our table's a little lonely..." Bones appears next to Jim's chair, his hand on Jim's shoulder, making him visibly relax. Of course Bones would notice the awkwardness over here, and bless his damn drunken soul he was coming to play savior for Jim. 

"No! Not at all." Jim says a little too loudly, relief evident on his face.

"Yes." Spock negates, "I do mind." He levels sharp eyes on Bones, who waves him off. 

"Well that's just too damn bad, because Jo-Jo and I aren't sittin' at a table all by ourselves just to leave you over here to your Vulcan pity party. Are we Jo-Jo?" 

Bones' daughter, a little girl of twelve years, is not so little since the last time Jim had seen holos of her. The doctor used to have video chats with her in the evenings when they were both at the academy together; that is until Jocelyn had interrupted them every night to bitch at Bones about something or other. Jim was actually surprised the mega bitch had let Joanna come to this thing and he smiled at her, motioning her toward the chair on the other side of Spock. "Don't mind him Jo, he really doesn't mind." Jim pointedly does not look at Spock, even though he can feel both Spock's stare at him and the flicker of discomfort from his partner across their link before it falls silent again, Spock muting their connection for now. It makes Jim frown, shifting in his seat. Surely Spock wasn't that mad about Jim letting his two friends sit with them. No, it was probably his discomfort over having Sarek present for this exchange.

The lights on the stage go up, revealing both the Admiral of the Fleet and his top brass, Admiral Pike is seated among them three chairs down from the center space with his cane resting propped against his knee. Admiral Komack approaches the podium and the whole room goes silent as he begins his address. 

"I want to thank you all for attending this welcoming ceremony for the crew of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. Tonight, we celebrate the return of our flagship and of her talented crew and officers. We shall bestow commendations tonight, but we will also be remembering friends and colleagues who have not returned home. Let us have a moment of silence to honor those lost to us." Komack's solemn stare sweeps the great hall during this small pause and Jim nods his head slightly, his own memories of those lost to the Narada incident flickering in his mind, their faces revolving past his eyes. So many died in that fight, so many young lives with great potential. 

"Now I ask that you raise your glasses to congratulate the skilled men and women of the _Enterprise_ on their successful mission, and to the continuation of their bright futures. If the senior officers of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ would join me now on this stage, I would like to raise a toast." Komack takes a glass of champagne from an attendant serving those on the dais, raising it slightly as they all wait. To his right, Spock stands from his seat and Jim watches as his friends all rise and approach the stage in a single-file line. Spock heads the procession and reaches the chair to the left of the center seat claimed by the Admiral. Jim lifts his glass, smiling when David lifts his water. 

"Let me first introduce you to Captain Spock, an exemplary officer of the fleet. Intelligent, courageous, and loyal. He has helped bring these young men and women back to Earth and back to their families bringing new scientific discoveries and a wealth of knowledge to Starfleet. He has performed his duties to the utmost of his abilities and I cannot think of a finer officer to honor tonight." Komack moves on, nodding to Lieutenant Commander Caulfield, Spock's first officer whom Jim realizes...he's not even met yet. 

"Lieutenant Commander Hilary Caulfield, having graduated at the top of her class with the highest commendations for placement, she has managed to replace Captain Spock as both his First Officer and Chief Science Officer. She is a bright, inquisitive woman with an astounding future ahead of her." 

Admiral Komack moves down the line of senior officers, introducing each of them to the mass of people gathered in the hall, polite and educated claps and murmured voices of approval echoing each introduction as it is made. Each of Jim's friends stand with their chins lifted, pride and happiness shining in their eyes and evident in their hearts as they each nod in thanks to Admiral Komack for his compliments before they are seated.

"Almost two-hundred years ago, Vulcans made first contact with the Human race, creating the first galactic union, a meeting of two worlds." Komack continues after a sip of his champagne, handing the glass off to the attendant again and gripping the glass podium before continuing, "Today, I am pleased to honor a man of both those worlds, Captain Spock if you would join me up here, please." Komack nods at two uniformed officers standing off to the side and as Spock rises, they approach him, flanking him on either side as he stands with his hands tucked neatly behind his back, eyes staring straight out over the seated crowd. 

"It brings me great pleasure to be able to speak on behalf of Captain Spock, who has brought great honor to Starfleet through his service and who has endured many hardships while resolving problems honorably and efficiently thus far in that service. So, it was no difficult decision to promote Captain Spock to the rank and responsibilities of Commodore tonight. Please," he nods to the two officers and Jim watches as both individuals respectfully reaches up to aide Spock in removing his outer uniform jacket, leaving him in his black regulation long-sleeved shirt. They present him with a second one, this one with a single thick, silver band of braided cloth around the sleeves at the wrists. Together, they attach the epaulets upon Spock's shoulders, these with the single decorated gold pin for Commodore adorning them, glinting under the lights. 

Jim feels a swell of pride lift his chest for a moment as he watches Spock accept and glow under the attention of his peers and friends. Of course, being Vulcan, he doesn't smile and the brim of his cap makes his eyes unreadable with shadow, but Jim can feel the contentment and satisfaction lying muted on the other end of their link. He feels like he can tell, having known the Vulcan so long now, and intimately; that he can see Spock's shoulders rise and roll back with a sense of pride of his own. 

The crowd claps and Jim joins them as Komack lifts his arm toward Spock, "I present to you, Commodore Spock of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_." A few shrill whistles emanate from the stage and Jim has a pretty good idea of who the culprits are; most likely Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty. 

"And now, I'd like to hand things over to our new Commodore.” Komack steps away from the podium, relinquishing it to Spock, who steps forward and reaches up for his hat, slowly removing it. His glittering brown eyes lift to review the gathered crowd, raven dark hair gleaming beneath the bright lights. Holo cameras flash all around the room and Jim wishes he had brought his camera along. He'll just have to make Spock put the whole uniform back on again, have him pose for a holograph with it on with David in the backyard perhaps. 

"Thank you, Admiral." Spock intones, sliding his hands behind his back with his cap resting on the podium before him, no notes present of course. "I would like to thank my peers, my former professors...and my friends and family- for being here tonight." Spock's eyes flit toward their table and Jim smiles, affection blooming fresh and warm in his chest. "I could not have risen to this rank without their aid, nor without the aid of the members of my crew. They have been highly competent, loyal, and brave in the face of danger; together we have grown stronger and together we have created a productive working unit worthy of honor." 

Spock's eyes drift downward, lingering on the edges of the podium and Jim sees the moment he decides on something to say, something not a part of his original script. "Tonight, it is my honor to give commendations to my senior officers. They have been and shall remain a large presence in my career and my future in Starfleet." He lifts a hand, motioning behind himself at the line of their friends seated along the stage. Many smiles reflect his approval back at him and Jim grins from his spot in the crowd, a small pang of jealousy in his heart that he could not be amongst that crew in some manner still. Next to him, David claps with the rest of the crowd. 

"Four years and seven months ago, I embarked on a journey as first officer under the authority of Admiral Pike, guided by his choices and his tutelage. I would like to thank him for his support tonight as well." Spock glances back at Pike seated on the other side of the stage, receiving a smile and a small nod from the older man. "But there is also one other person I would like to express my gratitude to." Spock lifts his eyes to regard the shadowed figures out in the great hall, his voice increasing in volume and strength as he continues his speech, "I wish to thank James T. Kirk for his unfailing support and friendship throughout the years of the mission. Without his constant interest in me and in my objectives, I would not have had the ambition to rise to this height in my career. He saw a potential in me that I did not, and for that, he shall always have my utmost appreciation." 

Jim's throat constricts as Spock speaks and he bites his lip, reaching for his glass of water, eyes stinging. He takes a few large gulps of the water, licking his lips and feeling a flush crawling up the back of his neck when Bones manages to cast him a knowing look from on stage full of both annoyance and amusement somehow. Sarek glances at him too, but Jim can't fathom the expression on the Vulcan's face, or even if there is one. So he looks back up to Spock, David grinning with pride next to him. 

"However," Spock doesn't clear his throat, but he pauses, swallowing before speaking once more, "in light of the ever changing path before me, I have decided to resign my position as Captain aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_." A heavy silence passes through the room and Jim grows very still, unsure if he had heard correctly. Spock was no longer going to captain the _Enterprise_? But why? Surely not for him and David? Jim glances at their friends upon the stage, but no one stiffens or looks appalled or upset, so Jim assumes they all must have known already. Had Spock discussed this with them? 

"In my place, another will take up the mantle. I will uphold my duties as Commodore and serve to the best of my abilities." Spock nods to the two petty officers who had helped him don his new rank, and the two men step forward. "I had asked if I might deliver the necessary promotions for those of my senior crew, as well as my commendations. Lieutenant Commander Caulfield, if you would rise to accept the honor bestowed upon you by me and by those of Starfleet invested in your success." Jim watches the slight, blonde woman rise, smoothing the front of her uniform skirt before striding forward to accept the plaque Spock hands to her upon his explanations. When she is seated again, Spock cycles through the rest of the senior officers. 

By the end of the ceremony, Sulu, Uhura, and Scotty have been promoted to Lieutenant Commanders, while Chekov and Dr. McCoy received commendations like Caulfield's. They are presented in a line again by Admiral Komack and more applause ensues, Jim standing with the crowd as they honor these officers together. The lights go up and Jim sits back down, watching from afar as Spock melts into a group of reporters and well-wishers. "Dad, I'm hungry...I'm going to go to the buffet. Is that okay?" David asks him, pulling his attention back to their table. 

"Sure son, just be careful about what you pick, Starfleet caters to all sorts of dietary needs here." Jim murmurs, watching his son pick up his plate and weave toward the buffet line a few tables away against the western wall of pillars. Jim isn't all that hungry himself, so he finishes his flute of champagne, catching another one as a waiter passes with a tray. He waits for David to return, Jo-Jo also getting up to get food and bringing a plate full of salad and vegetables back to the table with her. It seemed Bones was a great influence on his daughter's eating habits. 

Before Spock can return to their table, Sarek rises to leave and Jim looks up at him, hoping the annoyance he feels isn't showing on his face. Was Sarek not even going to stay to congratulate his son on his promotion? "Please," Sarek reaches into the folds of his robe and produces a digital business card, handing it to Jim, "give this to Spock on my behalf." Jim's fingers pinch the card, but he cannot stop the frown that emerges on his face. 

"Why don't you give it to him yourself?" Jim asks, his question casuing Sarek to almost get visibly more rigid. 

"I have other business to attend to." Sarek explains lightly, "I bid thee farewell, Kirk. Live long and prosper." Sarek gives Jim the ta'al, extending it in farewell to David as well, but Jim just stares at him, watching him disappear amongst the throng of people getting up and moving about the hall. 

"Does Spock like his dad?" David asks after a little while, making both Jo-Jo and Jim cast glances across the hall to where one tall, pointy-eared Vulcan in question is conversing with some of the top brass. 

"I don't know if he dislikes him necessarily, I think there's just an awful lot of unresolved business between them, kid." Jim mutters with a soft sigh.

Unfortunately, Jim cannot be rid of his mother as easily as Spock seems to be rid of his father for the evening. Winona finds their table again before the night is out and this time, Spock seems to move in order to intercept her, but Jim forestalls him. "It's okay Spock. I can handle it this time." He sighs, noting the indifference in his mother's gaze as she approaches their table. She takes the empty seat next to David and Jim hates her for it. How dare she put his kid between her and him. "David...why don't you go with Jo-Jo to find Uhura and the others?" Jim prompts, watching David gaze at him and Winona with uncertainty plain in his face. "Now." Jim presses and David scoots back from the table, taking one more bite of his food before scampering off with Joanna. 

Winona glares at him, "So I'm meeting him for the first time and you won't even let me talk to him?" She asks; anger palpable in her tone. 

"Not if you're going to talk like that." Jim says defensively.

"Oh, because I'll do more damage to him than the two of you? You and your Vulcan boyfriend?" She asks, casting a long look in Spock's direction and receiving an arched brow for her efforts at insulting him. 

"Watch what you say Mother...he's a Commodore now, wouldn't want him to have to put you in a holding cell." Actually, he'd fucking love that. 

"I simply do not understand how you would not tell your own mother that she has a grandchild?" Winona asks, gripping her shawl around herself more tightly, causing her to look a little vulnerable for once. Jim doesn't fall for it, because it could be just an act. She had left both her kids behind out of indifference, what would keep her from doing the same to David? Jim could not let her be a part of his son's life, not if she was still just as poisonous as she had always been.

"Because you don't really have one, Mom," Jim counters, looking away when all she does is glare at him. "David is my son, but you're not his grandmother. For one, you never even acted like a Mother in the first place, why should you be given the honor of being a grandmother, too?" Jim scoffs, scooting back from the table. "We're done here, I have nothing more to say about this and I don't want to hear anything more from you. C'mon Spock, we don't have to listen to this bullshit." 

"James Tiberius Kirk!" Winona's irritated voice rings out after them and Jim grits his teeth to keep his lips from curling back in disdain at her tone. He hated that middle name and she knew it too. 

"Jim!" Uhura smiles at him when they find the group of senior officers all hanging around the open bar, but her smile fades when she sees the expression on his face, "Oh shit, what's wrong? Something happen?" She frowns. 

"It's nothing." Jim brushes her off, not wanting to talk about the matter, but it would seem Spock didn't catch the hint. 

"Jim's mother is attempting to argue her way into David's life." Spock informs Uhura, who looks both shocked and confused. 

"You have a mother?" She asks instead, tilting her head at Jim. 

"Of course I have a mother," he scowls, "how else would I have been born in the middle of fucking outer space?" 

"I don't know, I guess I just assumed she had died or something. She was in Starfleet wasn't she?" Uhura inquires, collecting a glass of wine from the bartender behind her and bringing it to her lips. 

"Yeah, she was...did a lot of away missions that took her out of Federation Space. Sam and I hardly ever saw her." Jim mutters petulantly, ordering a shot of whiskey from the bartender. He knows mixing whiskey and champagne would land him in a troublesome spot later, but right now, he needs something stronger than the bubbles flitting around in his belly. 

"Oh, well that would explain that." Uhura mutters. 

"Explain what?" Jim glowers at her. 

"Your mommy issues," She says with an innocent smile, stealing the rage right out of Jim and making him roll his eyes in annoyance instead. 

"I don't have 'mommy issues'." He argues half-heartedly. In truth, when he had been younger and first entering Starfleet, they had run him through a psyche evaluation and the shrink there had spouted some crap about Jim's need for validation from women. It made sense that that was why he'd screwed up all his past relationships; he either got too intense too fast, or was too detached and afraid of getting hurt or putting himself out there. It was the reason for his past status of 'tom-cat' James. 

"Where is David?" Uhura asks, glancing around them.

"They must have found Bones out there somewhere, he's with Joanna." Jim replies.

Sulu plops down on a barstool next to Uhura, casting Spock a big grin, "Hey Commodore, thanks for the promotion." He says, tipping a finger out from his forehead in a casual salute. "Puts me one step closer to the _Excelsior_." 

"You are welcome, Mr. Sulu." Spock intones. 

"Ah-ah...Lieutenant Commander Sulu, to you," Sulu corrects with a sly grin. 

"You're going to milk that for weeks, aren't you?" Uhura asks him, rolling her eyes in his direction as she teases. 

"Hell yeah," Sulu says bluntly, frowning a little defensively. 

"What time is it?" Jim asks, knowing either Uhura or Spock will answer him and not being disappointed when Spock answers first. 

"Fifteen past oh-nine hundred, James," Spock says. 

"Shit, we should probably get home, get David to bed I think. He's had an overwhelming day..." Jim mumbles, combing a hand back through his hair. 

"Still kinda early, doon't ya think?" Scotty adds from his seat on the other side of Spock. "Let the lad have some fun, celebrate a li'l." 

"Yeah Jim, he doesn't have school tomorrow, stop being such a stick in the mud." Uhura grins. 

Jim arches a brow over at Spock, "I don't know about you, but I've kind of had enough of this place. Two party crashing parents are enough to ruin the fun, in my opinion." 

"Are they still here?" Sulu asks, scanning the crowds around them for Sarek and Winona. 

"I don't know and I'd rather not find out. Actually," he reaches into his suit pocket, tugging free the digital business card and handing it to Spock, "your daddy wants you to call him I think. Couldn't bother to stay and congratulate you but wanted me to be sure you got that." 

Spock slips the card into his pocket, impassive face showing no tells. "Have you two gotten to catch up these past few days?" Uhura asks with a sweet smile directed at them both, tilting her head back in order to see Spock, the Vulcan's cap lying discarded on the counter top behind them. 

Jim grimaces, "Well, sort of. Define 'catching up'?" He mutters, accepting the shot of whiskey from the bartender and throwing it back with a hiss and a shudder, feeling it burn a ragged path down his esophagus. 

"Wait, you two must have some time together, right? David has school during the week." She blinks. 

Sulu smirks, "Alright, I don't want to discuss your guys' love lives, c'mon Mr. Scott, let’s go find Chekov and get a few drinks in the kid." 

"Aye." Scotty agrees; a slightly exasperated expression on his face as he slips into the crowd with Sulu. 

Uhura snorts, "Typical." Shaking her head, she turns her attention back to Jim and Spock, who are both decidedly not looking at her. "Wait, so it's true then? You two haven't had a single moment alone together?" 

"Not...that much time no. David's been kind of," Jim squints, trying to find a word for his son's behavior that doesn't make him sound bad, "clingy lately. He's always been a little needy. With me that was understandable, I'm his dad. But I guess his neediness has extended to needing Spock too." 

"What, does he sleep with you guys too?" Uhura blinks and Jim casts her a baleful look before turning to order a second shot of whiskey. 

"Oh God," Uhura rolls her eyes, "don't let that become a habit Jim, or he'll be sleeping with you two until he's eighteen." Spock's eyes widen in her direction, round with horror that doesn't touch the rest of his features. 

Jim laughs, "Oh, I know. No, he'll be sleeping in his own bed again after tonight. I've let him these last few days, but it's getting a little ridiculous now. He's almost nine and he should be able to sleep through the night in his own bedroom. Besides," Jim turns a keen eye on his lover, "it seems Spock isn't going anywhere now." 

"That's true." Uhura chimes in. 

"Yeah, when were you going to tell me about that little bit, huh?" Jim asks, narrowing his eyes on Spock. 

The Vulcan blinks, a shift coming over his brown eyes, making him seem taken aback. "I had believed you would be pleased with the news." 

"Yeah, but you told everyone else but me, they all knew." Jim hooks his thumb back over his shoulder at Uhura, who tips her head in a sideways nod, half shrugging her shoulder. 

"I had wished it to be a...surprise." Spock murmurs softly, his voice shrinking in confidence under Jim's heavy stare. A surprise? Hell it had been a shock to hear he was stepping down from captaining the _Enterprise_. 

Jim's expression softens and he sighs, "It was, but Jesus...maybe we should have discussed it first. I mean, I had sort of assumed that in about a year, you and the rest of the crew would be going on another mission. That's your job, Spock. It's what you love to do." Jim lowers his voice, turning their conversation into a more private one while Uhura feigned interest in her glass of wine. "I wouldn't have expected you to give that up for David and I." 

"I wish to remain at home. In light of my recent promotion I am allowed that right." Spock argues, "If we had discussed it before my decision had been made, you would have argued with me to change my mind and I prefer avoiding the fight." 

"Fight?" Jim frowns, "I wouldn't have made it a fight Spock. We're not fighting now, are we?" 

Spock arches a brow, "Aren't we?" 

"No." Jim shakes his head, swiveling on his bar-stool to face his partner more fully, "I just want you to be...happy, I guess. And I know, happiness is an illogical emotion brought on by the state in which your hormones produce more endorphins and blah, blah, blah. But what if you miss being out there?" 

"I _have_ missed being 'out there', James." Spock says solemnly, "Even while I was present on the _Enterprise_. Because it was no longer my home." 

Jim comes up short, because he had forgotten hadn't he? His and Spock's agreement this week; the joint bank account and the shared responsibilities. Spock had been...nesting? Settling into routines and becoming a subtle part of his and David's lives again. Spock had been planning this, "When did you decide this?" Jim asks, all tones of argument leaving his voice. 

"I came to this conclusion eight months into our second year of separation." Spock answers and Jim smiles guiltily. 

"Really? That was a long damn time ago..." 

"Indeed." Spock murmurs, his voice nearly swallowed up in the hundreds of other conversations present around them. 

"Right, well you two definitely need a night together." Uhura says, cutting in past their imagined moment of privacy and sliding down off her bar-stool, wine in hand. "How about I take David for the night, we were all planning on inviting you guys out to celebrate after this anyway. You two go though, I'll make sure David has some fun tonight." 

Jim frowns, eyeing his friend up and down before leaning forward, digging into his pocket for his keys only to realize that they are checked in with the valet out front. "Shit, I can't give you the house key...I can give you the code to the garage though?" 

"That's fine. I would have had Scotty pick the lock anyway." She says with a shrug and a sweet smile, "We'll take him home in the morning, how's that sound?" 

"Wait, you're all going to be out all night?" Jim balks. 

"Jesus, don't worry Jim," Uhura laughs, "I'm 'party mom', remember? Besides, everyone else will probably pass out in my hotel room by midnight anyway." 

"How about this, you take David back to the house for the night once you guys have your fun and you all can crash there for the night?" Jim grimaces. 

"Don't you live in a two-bedroom?" She squints. 

"I have a couch...and you all can change the sheets on our bed if you have to." Jim snorts. "Besides, David sleeps better at home than anywhere else. I just started getting him used to sleepovers at his friend's house. I don't want to get a call at three in the morning of him crying to come and pick him up, okay?" 

"Aw, that won't happen." Uhura says with a sympathetic smile, her brows tilted in pity, "He'll be too tired anyway, but we'll take him back to the house. Promise." Jim sighs and tells her the code to the garage, watching her write it down in pen on the inside of her wrist, making him smile at seeing that old habits die hard. 

"Alright, well...call me if you need to, I'm going to go round everyone up so we can go. Sulu said something about a huge warehouse full of trampolines and a zero-gravity room." Jim watches her go with a bit of longing in the pit of his stomach. Zero Gs and trampolines sounded like a damn good time. But then again, so did the Vulcan sitting next to him at the bar.

"Do you think I just made a bad parenting decision?" Jim asks him, leaning his elbows back against the lip of the bar. 

"Nyota is a responsible woman, James. She will take care of David for the night." 

"It's not her I'm worried about, but the others. Scotty gets way too drunk and Bones? Well, unless he's bringing Joanna, he'll be sloshed for sure." Shaking his head, Jim sits up and slides off the bar-stool, Spock following suit. 

"Our friends care about David. I would trust them with his care given any circumstance." Spock replies, making Jim smile. 

"Yeah, well, maybe not given any circumstances, but I trust them too...sober, anyway. Did I tell you about the time Bones shaved one of my eyebrows off when he was drunk at the academy?" 

"The consumption of alcohol while enrolled at the academy is strictly forbidden." Spock blinks. 

"You seem shocked?" Jim snorts out a laugh, "Spock, everyone frequents the same damn bar every weekend, I can bet you that not a single cadet is sober come Friday night." 

Together they make their way toward the doors leading outside only to be continuously waylaid by people and their well-wishes and congratulations. Several of Spock's crew members want to talk to him for one last time, to thank him for being their captain and such. It's all very touching, but when you're trying to get the hell out for some peace and quiet, it's damn annoying too. They come across David, Joanna, and Bones half way toward the exit and Jim stops to tell his son goodnight. 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, alright?" Jim instructs his son, to which Bones snorts from behind him. 

"Right, that's sound advice, coming from a kid who used to pound three shots and then pick a fight." Bones mutters. 

Jim pauses, purses his lips, and then says, "Alright fine, don't do anything Mr. Spock wouldn't do." 

"That's more like it." Bones grumbles. "Now c'mon you two, let’s go jump our dinners out of our stomachs." He seems less than enthused about the choice of entertainment, but both Joanna and David grin and follow excitedly. 

The crowds of people outside have lessened substantially by this point in the night and Jim and Spock proceed unhindered to the valet stand, requesting their car. "We really will have to get a second car now, won't we?" Jim asks while they're waiting, a cool night breeze tickling the sweat on the back of Jim's neck. It had been boiling in that ballroom. 

"I would benefit from obtaining my own vehicle, yes." Spock agrees just as their car appears and the valet steps out. Jim tips him a few credits as thanks before climbing into the driver's seat, only to hesitate.

"Shit...where do we go now?" Jim blinks, at a loss. "We're...kidless!" Jim leans back in his seat, casting Spock a side-long stare. When Spock simply blinks back at him in return, seemingly without any ideas as well, Jim bursts into laughter, pumping his fist up in the air, "Woo-hoo! The boring as all hell parents are free! Let’s get crazy Spock." He chuckles, pulling out into traffic and heading deeper into the city. "Are you hungry? I don't remember seeing you eat earlier." 

Spock slides his hat off his head, smoothing the sleek cap of his hair down with the other hand, "I am not, nor do I desire sustenance at this time." 

"Okay, so no dinner then. Let’s not waste time." Jim raises his voice, addressing the car's A.I., "Mr. Spock, set a course for The Ambassador Hotel." 

"Arrival at destination in fifteen point six minutes." The A.I. responds, making Spock arch a brow at the center console displaying their route. 

"That is an expensive resort, James." 

"I'm well aware of that," Jim grins, "which is why we're only staying one night." 

The Ambassador Hotel was a location rich with history, but the establishment hardly looked like it did over a century ago, having received many remodels and updates through the decades. From the outside, it looks like a tall, brightly lit skyscraper; like any other building around it, save for the beautiful works of water art out front. Jim pulls their car up to the steps out front, a valet emerging from the lobby inside to take the keys from him. "It's weird not having to park all night." Jim mutters, joining Spock on the stairs and pushing his hands into his pockets. "It's also weird not having any luggage..." He laughs. 

The lobby is all black marble floors, golden threads glinting throughout the stone work with pure white walls, floor lights accenting the various works of art depicted throughout the vast room. Plants of foreign origin decorate green spaces inside the hotel and the stairs leading to a bar to their right funnels soft conversation and music to their ears as they both approach the front desk together. 

"Uh, one room please." Jim says, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. The woman behind the counter only casts them a single glance before taking Jim's I.D. and credit chip, seeming to accept them for their attire, Jim in a tux and Spock in a respected uniform.

"When shall we expect you to check out, sirs?" She asks politely, going through the motions of her job. 

"In the morning some time, I should expect." Jim says, casting Spock a look for approval and receiving a nod in return. The woman seems to notice Spock's heritage at that point and her curiosity rises, but she remains respectful. It can't be often that a Human and a Vulcan request for a room together and the image from her standpoint must seems laughable. God he was lucky as hell. 

"Very well, here are your keys, will a room on the twelfth floor be alright?" 

"That will be fine." Jim scoops the keys up off the counter, turning to motion Spock toward the bank of elevator doors to their left. As the doors slide shut behind them, Jim smirks, "She didn't even list the amenities Spock, the unlikely pair of us threw her for a loop." 

"I do not understand your giddy pleasure at shocking people with our relationship, James." Spock tilts his head to regard him, his image reflected in the mirrored surface of the metal around them. 

"I don't know," Jim shrugs, "I guess I just like rubbing it in their faces that I'm dating a Vulcan." Reaching out, he slides his fingers through Spock's while they are alone, "but not just any Vulcan, _Commodore_ Spock." He squeezes his partner's hand lightly, watching Spock's lips part with pleasure at the gesture before he lets go, the elevator doors sliding open onto the twelfth floor. 

The halls are thickly carpeted and Jim's feet sink into the pile as they walk down to room 1206, Jim waving the key card before the lock until it clicks open. Together they stride into the room and Spock closes the door behind them. It's only when Jim hears the lock slide home that he turns around, a wicked look coming over him. "I still can't really believe all this..." He says with a gesture about and between them, "not just that we're finally getting some time for ourselves but...that you're staying." 

"I had told you I intend to be a part of every aspect of your household. How could I uphold that promise if I were to leave on another away mission?" Spock asks, sliding his hat onto a side table just inside the door. Jim watches him, already noticing how duty and responsibility seem to slide off Spock's shoulders as he moves, elongating his strides and swaying his shoulders and hips in that appealing way again. 

"I don't know, I guess I just hadn't thought that far ahead. In a way, I was completely blind-sided by your return, you know?" Jim swallows as Spock steps closer to him, edging into his space as he hadn't done all evening, the curious and prying eyes of strangers keeping them carefully distant from one another. 

"I do not understand, please clarify your statement?" Spock asks, slowly reaching up to aide Jim in removing his bow tie, pulling on one end until it slips free, the fabric tickling Jim beneath the fold of his collar as it slides away.

"Well, for a while there we didn't know _what_ was going on, and then you called out of the blue two months later and say you're three days out from here and...I don't know, I guess I've just been living on a day-to-day basis, too afraid to look that far ahead." 

Brown eyes soften while Jim speaks and he finds himself leaning into the Vulcan's touch as a hand slides around the curve of his neck, fingers ghosting along the base of his skull. Encouraged, Jim leans his head back into that wide palm as Spock cradles his head gently. "You shall not have to be afraid any longer, James." Spock murmurs, his words striking something deep and tender inside Jim, making him wince slightly. 

"You're really serious then...no more leaving? No more goodbyes?" Jim lifts his hands, splaying them over Spock's chest as he had wanted to do earlier that evening.

"Where would I go?" Spock asks, studying Jim's face from mere inches away.

Jim shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly, "I don't know, New Vulcan?" 

"I would not go to the colony without you and David." Spock explains. 

Looking away, Jim tips his head down and out of Spock's hand, pressing his forehead instead to Spock's sternum, lightly fingering the IDIC pin over his partner's chest. He doesn't say anything, electing rather to spend this moment in silence, processing this new and welcome information. In a way, he's sad because it means the _Enterprise_ will fall into another person's hands, become a powerful beast for another Captain. But the sadness is greatly outweighed by the pleasure at knowing Spock would rather stay here with him and his boring life with David rather than traipsing back out into the stars. He wondered if their positions were to be reversed, if he would be as unselfish? He hoped he would be. 

Spock's hands release him where they had settled about his waist and Jim lifts his head, noticing Spock's eyes wandering about their room. Jim turns too and observes for the first time the suite and all its amenities. The whole room is decorated in varying shades of bright white, blue, and grey and Jim wanders into the center of the carpet to stare at the bed. Jesus it was big, and it was one of those sunken beds surrounded by a platform, this one raised to the level of the mattress and entirely mirrored. An overhang covers the ceiling above the bed and in it recessed lights cast a brilliant glow down on the white duvet. He surveys the furniture, all white and pristine, as well as the holo screen mounted on the wall adjacent to the bed. "Holy crap, it's like a starship in here..." He mutters, moving toward one curtained window to brush the white material aside, gazing out at all the bright lights of the city below. He lets the curtain fall back into place again before turning to Spock once more, the Vulcan surveying with curiosity equal to his own.

"Indeed, it is quite...sterile." Spock agrees, making Jim laugh. 

"Well, I've never been here before maybe all the rooms are like this." Skirting the bed and its odd platform, Jim finds the bathroom at the back of the suite, "Holy shit Spock, they've got a Jacuzzi tub! We are _so_ using this tonight." Jim wanders back out into the room in time to see Spock take a seat on the mirrored platform surrounding the bed, bending to remove his boots. "I feel like some country bumpkin wandering into the Sistine Chapel or something." He grins. 

Pushing his toes into the back of his shoes, he forces them off his feet, pushing them aside toward the coffee table in front of the sofa. As he walks closer to Spock, he slides his coat off and leaves it draped over the platform, joining his necktie there as he reaches up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt. "I know you hate being in water, but would you like to take a bath with me anyway?" Jim offers, smiling when Spock doesn't protest, but rather reaches up to slide the zipper of his uniform jacket down. Jim's own movements slow as he watches his partner divest himself of the garment, leanly muscled arms flexing beneath the sleeves of his under shirt as Spock turns to set his jacket down next to Jim's. 

"I'll uh...I'll go start the bath." Jim stammers, suddenly nervous as hell. Before, when they had been at home, everything had happened spontaneously and he had been rightly disappointed every time they had been interrupted. But here, knowing that they have no possibility of interruption, Jim feels a little performance pressure coming on. Letting out a long breath, he finishes undressing in the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him as he leans over to turn on the taps in the bath with a touch of a button. He braces a knee on the tiles ringing the edge of the bath, half pushing his briefs down but lingering there in thought, his pants and socks discarded in a pile at his feet already. 

"Jim...?" Spock's warm, deep voice shakes Jim from his musings and he glances back over his shoulder, his vision immediately filled by one nude Vulcan. Mother of fucking God, but Spock looked damn good. Three years hadn't diminished him at all and Jim thinks this lighting suits him better somehow, casting shadows in places over the smooth plains of his body. Jim's eyes skim the areas of coarse hair across his partner's frame, taking it all in. Long, athletic legs like a greyhounds, narrow rib-cage and slender jutting hips paired with the wide advantage of Spock's shoulders makes Jim swallow, licking his lips. 

"Hey..." Jim says awkwardly, blue eyes flicking a glance down at his partner's front from his face, unable to restrain himself from checking his partner out. Of course, Spock hasn't changed in that regard either, but it had been so long since he'd actually gotten to look at Spock without worrying about a kid discovering them that Jim finds his memory of Spock's body is slightly off when compared to the real thing. 

"Greetings..." Spock blinks, probably wondering if he had broken his partner merely by the sight of him. 

Tearing his eyes away from the Vulcan, Jim reaches down to test the temperature of the water with his fingertips, satisfied by the soothing warmth and motioning Spock forward to join him he pushes his briefs the rest of the way off. "I think we'll both fit, it's pretty wide." Stepping into the hot water, Jim hums in appreciation, sliding down to sit with his back to the opposite side of the tub. Spock follows suit but sits with his back to the end as one generally should, slipping his legs beneath the curved bridge of Jim's own so they sit perpendicular to one another, Jim's arms stretched out along the edge. Leaning his head back, Jim closes his eyes, the water automatically turning off once the tub is adequately filled, the jets cycling on. Grinning, he shifts until one jet pummels him in the middle of the back, making him groan. "We need one of these..." He sighs. 

Spock shifting around in the water next to him makes Jim crack an eye open, amused to see Spock endeavor to find a spot where a jet is _not_ pounding at his back or sides. "I think there's a softer setting." Jim mutters, leaning forward to play with the controls until the jets slow to a low bubbling, Spock relaxing into the water again with a slightly perturbed expression directed at Jim. Chuckling, Jim reaches a wet hand out to lightly pat his partner on the cheek. “I should have considered your sensitivities...sorry." He smiles, dragging a hand back through his hair, making it stick up in places wet with water. 

"I'm...sorry about my Mother earlier." Jim grumbles. He had been embarrassed by Winona's selfish need to confront them in public, hating how things had played out. If she had been anything like Spock's mother Amanda had been Jim would have been grateful to have a Mother like her. But she couldn't be more of an opposite to the sweet woman Spock had described to him so many times over chess during the year they had served together. 

"Your mother's actions are not a reflection on you, James. Your guilt is not only misplaced, but damaging to your state of mind. Her short-comings are in no way your fault." Spock comforts and Jim can feel that tingling at the back of his mind again, their link opening to allow Jim the whispers of Spock's feelings as their skin brushes together beneath the surface of the churning water. 

"I used to think they were," Jim murmurs, his voice small in the wide expanse of the bathroom. "I used to think it was my fault that Mom left us both behind, Sammy and I." Jim purses his lips, "because I reminded her of our Dad too much." 

"If that were the case, it would mean your mother would hold the death of your Father against him, if she truly loved him, she would cherish his memory embodied in you." Spock argues making Jim smile sadly. 

"I don't know what her problem is Spock...somehow I think my Father's death broke something inside her and made her incapable of thinking of anything or anyone that might bring her that kind of pain again. In a way, she's cut herself off from everyone and everything. She spends half the year on some outpost in space, even though she could be on any vessel in the fleet. I think her detachment has kept her from getting very far in Starfleet. It's almost like she's one of those washed up comedians trying to be funny again but only seeming pathetic." Jim rubs his brow, fingers pressing into his temple out of irritation and weariness. "In a way, I feel sorry for her; she's pushed everyone away and doesn't have anybody anymore. But on the other hand, I cannot allow her to get too close to David. Because if I let him get attached to his grandmother, what if she decides to cut and run again?" 

A hand slides over Jim's knee in the water and Jim opens his eyes, casting them toward Spock and taking comfort in the steady eyes regarding him in return. Spock is listening and with that, Jim begins to feel a little more peace over the situation he's struggled with his whole life regarding his mother. "If David gets attached, like he does to anyone who shows him enough attention and love...she'll take two massive steps back from him, she'll abandon him like she did Sam and I and then I'll have to watch my baby boy fall apart over it, just like he did when you had to leave three years ago. God, Spock...the nightmares." Jim's eyes close on the memory of having to go into his son's room every night to hold him through the shaking sobs and angry flailing. 

"I apolo-" Spock begins, but doesn't get very far as Jim silences him with a touch to his hand, curling his fingers around the one resting on his knee. 

"No, don't apologize Spock, you had to go and David knew that. I knew that. I expected it to happen, and nothing would have changed. Not if you and I had never gotten together, not if you hadn't stayed those three months. At that point in time, he was so young and so impressionable. Even staying a week would have fostered some of his attachment to you somehow." Jim sighs, "But he's really gotten better about it, you know? He isn't so frantic to keep me in sight anymore and he can stay a night away as long as I pick him up in the mornings." 

"That is a vast improvement." Spock agrees his fingers lightly traversing Jim's own, causing Jim to link their hands together and bringing them up to his lips to brush a kiss across Spock's knuckles. 

"Yeah, it is." Jim sighs, letting his head roll back onto the lip of the tub again, staring up at the ceiling. "What do you think your Father wants to talk to you about?" Jim asks softly, trying to change the subject. 

"I am uncertain, though if I were to make an educated guess," Spock begins, making Jim laugh softly. 

"But you _don't_ guess, Spock," Jim smiles. 

"If I were to endeavor to do so," Spock continues, casting his companion a playfully withering look, "I would have to say he wishes to make another argument for my returning to the colony." 

"But why? Last time we talked about this, you told me they didn't need you." Jim frowns. 

"My father wishes for me to aide in the rebuilding of technologies which were lost and also to aide in the restructuring of our council. We lost two members of the High Council in the destruction of our home world and my father wishes for me to act as a stand in for one of those leaders, perhaps even run for the election." 

Jim stares at Spock, because he cannot envision Spock serving on a council, let alone a Vulcan one, not after what he had told Jim they had said to him upon his acceptance into the Vulcan Science Academy. How could Spock ever work with a group of people under the impression that he was living at a disadvantage due to his heritage? Spock breathes heavily out his nostrils, causing them to flare and almost sounding like a sigh of his own, "Or perhaps he wishes to address the public nature of our relationship." 

"Hey, he shouldn't have any beef over our relationship; he was _married_ to a human," Jim points out, causing Spock's thumb to stroke over his own affectionately. 

"He may simply wish to inquire as to our future plans, given that I am a hybrid, I would be of little use married to a female. He may simply be curious whether we intend to bond." Spock clarifies, casting Jim for another loop. 

"Wait, what do you mean you wouldn't be of use to a female?" Jim sits up turning his irritated stare toward Spock and making his Vulcan withdraw his hand as he no doubt feels the swell of Jim's emotions through the link. Jim tries to calm down, but if Spock is implying what he thinks he is... 

"As a Human-Vulcan hybrid, the likelihood of me producing any offspring is in the lowest percentile." Spock arches a brow, "I had thought you knew this fact, James. I do not understand your anger." 

"So you're sterile, so what..." Jim snaps, "You would still be a good mate, for a female or anyone else." He argues. 

Spock tilts his head, still confused as to Jim's violent reaction, "A union between myself and a fertile female would be not only illogical, but a waste of genetic material to the Vulcan colony at present. I would be unable to aid her in producing a child and would therefore be keeping her from a more beneficial union." 

"I'm sure there are treatments...things doctors can do to help with that." Jim argues, to which Spock seems a little amused, if the slight narrowing of his eyes indicates anything. 

"The child would be a quarter Human due to my DNA, the balance would be imperfect and cause complications Jim. I do not understand why you are so upset. Unless you were intending to foster off-spring with my genetic material, we have no issues. Our union is logical; it would be seen as sound." 

Jim shakes his head, feeling his temple throb at Spock's words, "No, no...I wasn't really thinking of more kids, one is more than a handful. But it's just the principle of the matter upsetting me, I suppose. The fact that you would view yourself as someone less than desirable as a mate because of a single imperfection." 

"An imperfection is still a defect and in the realm of reproduction, I am defective Jim." Spock argues, making Jim's chest ache. 

"You're not defective in anything Spock...you're perfectly functional and anyone who says otherwise cannot see the true value in having you as a mate and friend." Leaning over, Jim turns his body, tucking himself in the space beside Spock and the side of the tub. Spock lifts his arm to wrap it around Jim, drawing him closer and accepting the kiss his lover lifts toward him. 

"Ashayam...your logic is not wholly acceptable." Spock murmurs, his tone more gentle, trying to calm Jim down from his irritated state. 

"Well accept it anyways, because I'm sticking to it mister." Jim mutters, resting his head against Spock's shoulder. They lay together in the rushing water for a while longer until Jim stirs, pretty sure he is disturbing Spock in a moment of meditation when the Vulcan's eyes open a few moments later to watch him rise and go for a towel, dripping water across the tiles along the way. 

When Spock shivers even with a plush towel wrapped around him, Jim goes in search of a thermostat and upon not finding one, realizes that this hotel is new enough to have a voice command system installed. "Computer, raise the ambient temperature to seventy-seven degrees." A beep acknowledges him and satisfied, Jim finishes drying off and drapes the towel over the edge of the draining tub. He and Spock retire to the bedroom and Jim requests the lights to fifty percent, the room dimming to an intimate glow. "You know, I used to think you'd be a whole lot more shy than this." Jim murmurs as they both make their way to the bed, having to slide on their knees across the odd platform surrounding it before they can climb beneath the soft sheets and heavy comforter. "You know, walking around naked and all." Jim chuckles. 

"I do not find myself in a position of vulnerability while undressed with you, Jim." Spock replies, shuffling some of the overstuffed pillows out from behind them, lining them up on the surrounding platform on his side of the bed.

Smiling, Jim reaches out across the mattress and curls his hand over Spock's hip, bringing the Vulcan around to face him instead of fussing with removing all the extra pillows from the bed. "You're that comfortable around me?" 

Spock seems perplexed again, but answers anyway, "I am." Instead of replying in a voice stiff with stoicism or entirely proper, Jim appreciates the simple speech, seeing it as an act of intimacy from the Vulcan. Around his father, Spock speaks like the very first day Jim had met him, but while they are alone, Spock feels comfortable enough to simply speak without measuring of one each of his words first. 

"Are you still cold?" He asks softly. 

"I am somewhat chilled, perhaps you could remedy the situation." Spock suggests boldly, brown eyes steady and challenging, making Jim laugh and roll atop him in the bed. The moment their bodies collide, both men gasp aloud and Jim shudders at the intensity of their reunion. "Perhaps...the days we have spent in proximity to one another has heightened our senses minutely." Spock suggests at Jim's wide-eyed and questioning stare. 

"We aren't melded or something, you didn't initiate one while we were in the tub? Because that felt a lot like when we're in a meld," Jim groans, leaning his forehead down to rest against Spock's. 

"No James, I would have requested permission from you in order to do such a thing." Spock murmurs, his lips brushing up against the curve of Jim's cheek as he speaks. 

"So we're just really fucking needy, is what you're saying?" Jim smirks like the devil, bracing his hands in the mattress and sliding his legs to rest more comfortably about Spock's own beneath the sheets. In the course of his movement, their hips rock together and Jim's eyes flicker shut as another shudder of pleasure rolls through him. "Dear God, you're going to kill me tonight." He moans, sighing as two hands slide up the curve of his back, soothing an ache he hadn't realized had been there. An ache of three years. 

"That would appear to be the case, yes." Spock encourages Jim to drop his weight, the Vulcan's body able to take the pressure of a full grown male pressing down on him, Jim feeling rather light in fact. They rest together like this a while, simply basking in the sweet feel of reunion, their flesh remembering one another and their hands seeking places to stroke and caress with the utmost affection and gentleness. 

Jim breaks the silence after a while, voice groggy and soothed from Spock's ministering hands as they have spent the last twenty minutes simply stroking his back and carding through his hair. "Nmn...I had thought this would go so entirely different than it is right now." He grumbles, uncaring how he sounds, his words all jumbled together and sleepy. 

"How did you envision our time spent together?" Spock asks softly, his own voice hushed to a whisper, Jim's fingers idly sifting through his black hair and lulling him into relaxation. 

"Well, when I used to think about it...which I have to admit, was a lot," Jim mutters, flushing at some of the more ridiculous fantasies he had had over their years apart, "I used to think that we would be tearing our clothes off, in a hurry to get to one another and just...get _at_ each other. I think this whole lazy approach didn’t even cross my mind at the time. I guess my desperation was fueling my libido a little too much back then." Jim grumbles, content to lie there a while longer and bask in Spock's physical attention. 

"I admit that I had envisioned a similar scenario." Spock replies, making Jim shift so he can look at his partner's face, disbelief slackening his features. 

" _You_ had fantasies about us?" Jim cannot help the sudden spike of arousal that burns through him to think that Spock had been fantasizing about him, about _sex_ with him. 

"Not specifically..." Spock's brown eyes shift away and Jim has to cup his cheek, turn his head so he can see those eyes again because he will not allow modesty to keep this information from him.

"What, specifically, did you envision then?" He asks. 

Spock hesitates, which only makes Jim more rabidly curious and he sits up, straddling Spock's hips, Spock's hands sliding to rest upon his waist with the sheets bunched back behind him. Finally, Spock finds his words again, "During the last few months of my time on the _Enterprise_ , I would experience these moments of...strong recollection." 

"Okaaaay?" Jim prompts, circling his hands through the air to keep Spock explaining, "So you imagined stuff, alright?" 

"No, it was not necessarily my imagination. It was more as if my mind was vividly reproducing memories with you. To the point where...it would seem you were in the very room with me, James." Spock explains, making Jim gape at him. 

"What like a hallucination?" He blinks, still confused. 

"I believe the link was causing these lapses in my... _control_ , for I was often awake when experiencing them, but I found that when I was at rest, if I experienced one of these recurring scenarios, they would not fully adhere to memory and I could often manipulate the situation to my needs." 

"So you fucked me in your dreams, that's hilarious." Jim laughs, tipping his face toward the ceiling. When he manages to look at Spock again, he notes the slightly green hue to the Vulcan's cheeks and he smiles, affectionately cupping Spock's cheek and rubbing his thumb over blushing skin. "Also, not fair...if I had been able to relive some of our moments as easily as that, I would have killed to do it." 

Spock arches a brow at him, "They were not always at the most opportune moments James, at times I would believe you had entered the bridge for duty and would stand to relinquish the center seat to you only to realize you were a figment of my memories and the rest of the crew would be alarmed at my odd behavior." 

"I'm surprised Bones didn't stick you full of hypos for that." Jim mumbles, still amused, blue eyes gazing down at Spock and twinkling in his mirth. 

"I endeavored to hide the occurrences from the doctor to avoid such a reaction." Spock says blandly, sliding his hands down the tops of Jim's thighs, causing him to shiver at the contact. 

"You didn't mention any of this in your subspace transmissions." He points out to Spock. 

"I found them somewhat distressing for I could not control their frequency. I had thought I might be damaged in some way, but since we have been reunited, I have not suffered their effects." Jim shifts as Spock speaks, sliding to lie on his side next to Spock and skim a hand across his lover's chest. 

"I guess you just really missed me after three years, Spock." Jim grins. 

"That I can freely admit. The loss of your presence aboard the _Enterprise_ was keenly felt by all of the crew, but most acutely by myself." Lifting his hand from beneath the sheets, Spock slides his hand over the side of Jim's face, causing their link to flare under his touch. Jim shudders violently at the feeling, feeling dazed when he opens his eyes next. Spock's voice echoes soothingly in his mind: _'For you are my lover...brother and friend.'_ Jim's eyes sting at the declaration, _'Taluhk nash-veh k'dular. I cherish thee.'_

Jim projects back at Spock, a shivery sense of lust causing his body to tense with anticipation, _'God, I love it when you speak Vulcan like that...'_

They reach for one another in the same moment, each drawn to one another with an equal amount of sharp and desperate need, Spock's hands finding and gripping Jim's body across the bed and dragging him across the mattress with ease as they tangle together, a clash of lips and bodies. Their teeth scrape in their haste to taste one another but Jim doesn't mind it as Spock's lips part in acquiescence to his probing kisses, sampling again of that same flavor he has always associated with his companion. Spice and tea, but tonight, a hint of champagne as well and the foreign flavor only fuels Jim's desire for the Vulcan. 

It's only once they're both half hard and clinging to one another that Spock makes a logical suggestion, having more presence of mind to withdraw enough to speak while Jim's lips simply fall to devour the skin at his throat instead, "Perhaps...it would be beneficial," he pants, words segmented by the hard sucks of Jim's mouth over the sensitive skin of his neck, "to us both," he huffs, gripping Jim's shoulders a little too tightly, "if we were to locate the proper supplies first, before engaging ourselves further." He chokes out the rest of his sentence and Jim groans, because hunting down condoms and lube requires he leave this bed, and right now, that is the last thing he wants. However, if the jut of Spock's need pressed into his thigh is any indication, Jim realizes that at least lubricant is in order. 

"Shit." He hisses as he rolls away, climbing out of the bed and slipping across the mirrored edge around them. Stupidly, he hadn't brought any lube because this hadn't exactly been in his plans tonight. But a frantic search through the bathroom drawers leads Jim to find what looks like a complimentary package of hygienic goods and in it he finds a small squeeze bottle of lubricant. Bless those devious souls who added that to the room's amenities. Smirking, he swaggers from the bathroom, brandishing the lube bottle with gusto only to pause and grin at the sight before him in the bed. 

Spock looks entirely disheveled and is stretched languorously across the bed; the sheets pushed aside from their earlier activities. He lies on his side with an arm tucked beneath the pillows, his hair in disarray from Jim's heavy petting, his face still somewhat flushed as is his chest and one other lower extremity Jim sees; a view that sends sparks of electricity throughout his body. Heavy brown eyes regard him but their stoicism has been wiped away tonight, displaying Spock's desire for him plainly. _'Christ, I want him,'_ Jim thinks to himself, only to realize that his thoughts aren't exactly all his own right now, not with the link wide open between them. Spock's lips twitch minutely and Jim returns with an answering grin, striding forward toward the bed and crawling onto to it upon his knees across the platform. "Look what I found in the bathroom." He comments seductively, setting the bottle of lube down on the mirrored edge surrounding them like an island. 

"Convenient." Spock replies, eyes crinkling in the closest thing to a Vulcan laugh that Jim has ever seen, save for that one time he had actually made the Vulcan laugh. _'Come to me.'_ Spocks voice is a force not to be denied and Jim obeys with pleasure, aroused by the baritone of Spock's voice, even in the confines of their shared minds. 

Jim draws up the sheet over them as they meet in the center of the bed, returning to their earlier movements. Spock's lips are soft and pliant against Jim's own, coaxing reactions out of his body he hadn't felt in years. Together like this they do not need words, but follow a flow of movement together, each rocking into the other and seeking to fit against each other as they always have, hands reaching...reaching...reaching.

But this time Spock doesn't feel so out of reach to Jim, he doesn't feel like a figment of his imagination or a frantic vision. Spock remains and there is no hurry, his presence a constant in Jim's mind and against his body as they seek to pleasure one another. Jim savors every touch and every movement, relishing another first, another constant he can rely on. Right now, there is no worry, no regret and no desperation. No sorrow, no agony, no loneliness and Jim only realizes his face is damp when Spock's voice soothes him through the link: _'Hush Ashayam, do not weep for the past, stay with me in this moment.'_

He gasps and shudders when Spock slides a hand around him to gently ready him for their further intimacy, Jim having expressed his need to have Spock through his desperation, to have him in the whole sense of the word having dispelled any questions of who would receive tonight. Perhaps another night Jim might bask in his lover's body in turn, but tonight, he is feeling far too needy, the desire to be loved and shown that love through a physical means too strong to suggest they switch roles. So when Spock wipes the tear tracks from his cheeks with his free hand, Jim doesn't feel guilty for it, nor does that hateful memory of a voice calling him a 'pansy' return. Instead, he smiles up at Spock, leg hooked over the Vulcan's hip comfortably, fingers sliding through Spock's hair. 

They move across the bed together, Jim turning to find a comfortable position sprawled face down on the mattress, propping his hips up with a pillow, one leg drawn up with his knee toward his stomach. The warmth from Spock's body settling over his is welcome and nothing else matters the moment they connect, the moment Spock enters him and they join with one another on a whole other level. Jim arches beneath Spock's steadying hands, finding an arm about his chest a moment later, gently supporting him with fingers clasped about the curve of his shoulder. Spock's breath at his ear is hot and becoming somewhat labored as they surge forward together, Spock rocking his hips into Jim and causing flashes of color to bloom throughout Jim's vision. Pleasure clutches at Jim's limbs and he presses himself forward against the bed and the pillow beneath him, needing more, wanting to feel even more than Spock has already given him. His is about to cry out, to beg Spock for relief when those fingers slide up to his face and if Jim had thought they were sharing their minds before, he finds had been rather mistaken. 

A ragged gasp causes Jim's lungs to expand painfully when Spock initiates a meld between them, a heavy press of emotion and sensation crashing through their link, blowing it wide open like a channel flooded by stormy river waters. Jim cries out, this time in pleasure as Spock delves into his mind, embracing his very essence in a sense Jim has never felt; accepted and embraced. Affection and love, deep currents of emotion rooted in memory and thought cascade through the meld, unshielded and unrestrained as Jim feels it all to the same deep degree as his Vulcan lover. Whoever said Vulcans felt more intensely were right, for every emotion seems raw and in its purest form, insatiable and sometimes undefined as Jim gets caught up in the meld, the needs of his body currently forgotten.

Not only were Spock's emotions and thoughts now his own, but Spock's physical sensations, and Jim is privy to the intense double sensation of both being held and lovingly taken and also of holding and exerting his passions. Their actions become so tangled up in his mind that he can no longer distinguish who is on the receiving end of things any longer and in a sense, they both are as they ascend toward release together. Jim loses his shit first, aware that he is shouting, his voice hoarse, and also distantly aware that his hands are grasping something quite desperately, nails digging into solid flesh and muscle and causing a delicious pain they both feel. Jim's tip toward orgasm drags Spock down too and Jim's vision whites out with the intensity of feeling bombarding him through the meld. _NeedwantlovepleaseyesneedwantlovemineAshayam._ Just before Spock's thoughts cascade into a litany of Vulcan words, Jim hears the endearment and smiles, basking in the intense glory of pleasure long awaited, feeling sated...for the moment.

Slowly, as they return to themselves, seeming not only to untangle their bodies from each other to lay side-by-side again, but also trying to untangle their thoughts and emotions from one another; Jim opens his eyes and is relieved when his vision returns, if a little blurry. But that's probably because his eyes are tearing up again and he wipes at them with the back of his hand, finding that he is shaking. "Holy shit..." he rasps, voice cracking, damaged from his shouts. 

"In-...Indeed." Spock replies after a moment, their hands tangled together lying between them on the mattress. Jim shivers but not from the cold, more so from feeling like they are still rather attached to one another, as if the meld is still in place. He blinks, confusion cycling through him and he isn't certain if it is him feeling confused, or Spock. 

"Are we-.. are we still in a meld?" Jim asks, blinking up at the ceiling. 

"It would seem that I was able to sustain our connection through orgasm." Spock replies, "A most unexpected experience." 

Jim laughs, sounding giddy and a little manic. He reaches up to drag a hand down over his face, trying to shake some coherency back into himself again rather than sounding like a blithering idiot. "Will it...will it continue then?" Is there some kind of protocol for ending a meld? Jim doesn't know because every meld they had ever engaged in had ended abruptly or been broken by Jim's orgasms. Now, here he was, lying here and hearing Spock's thoughts next to him. 

_'It would appear our link has acquired strength, despite our separation. What could this mean?'_

"I don't know." Jim answers aloud, causing Spock to narrow his eyes at him, a whirl of emotion swirling through their connection: _Annoyancelovehappiness._ "What, am I not supposed to do that?" He asks, smirking. "Am I invading your personal privacy, Mr. Spock?" He chuckles. 

"Given that you are my chosen mate, I have no issue with your gleaning of my thoughts, however another Vulcan would find it invasive and aggressive." Spock informs him. 

"Well then I'm glad I'm not a Vulcan, because I'd probably offend a lot of people." 

"As children, Vulcans learn how to shield themselves from one another so as not to accidentally read each others thoughts through simple contact." Spock explains. 

Rolling over to face Spock, Jim brushes his nose against his lover's affectionately, closing his eyes and just allowing himself to sift down through the layers of his lover. Since he isn't a telepathic creature in any sense, he can only pick up on what leaks through and since they are touching, the sensations are stronger. "Mmn," He hums, "you want to do it again?" He asks, a brilliant grin spreading across his lips and causing another vivid stream of emotions to course through Spock, dripping down into Jim's mind like overflow: _Loveaffectiondesireneed._

"I would be amenable to furthering our pursuits." Spock replies, an emerald flush staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears, causing Jim to lean up and slip one of those petal soft earlobes into his mouth, feeling an instant spike of arousal course through Spock as sharp as a corded whip. He was never going to get used to that, the backwash of emotion and thoughts that teased at his mind, grated on his own emotions and made him quake with their intensity. Not that he would ever want to take any of this for granted, not when warm brown eyes were regarding him with such tenderness that he couldn't breathe, and hands were reaching for him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any readers who do not feel comfortable commenting on a public forum, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	6. Party Like It's 2262.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow David during his all night adventure with the _Enterprise_ bridge crew as they celebrate after the promotions ceremony at Barkley Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, welcome back to another Sunday update! I hope this week went alright with you guys, I actually got a little sick and had to scramble to get this chapter done in time (yikes!). I want to thank my lovely beta reader [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate), for her undying support and by getting this chapter back to me so fast. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter with [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdQjndOvNn4) song in mind entitled _'Runaway (U & I)'_ by **Galantis** (the Gioni Remix). Feel free to enjoy reading it during this part of the story. We're taking a short interlude from Spock and Jim's activities across town and spending some quality time with our favorite friends instead. 
> 
> Any mistakes I make in either accent or spelling/grammar are my own and the fault of only me. I claim no proficiency in being able to write for accents and I'm no expert when it comes to all the little things that make up each of these characters. I just hope I've made a good representation of all our lovelies.  
> Please let me know what you guys think in the comments below, don't worry...next chapter we'll be back to including Jim and Spock. ;] 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to any of you who had a bad week and need some cheering up and a chance to 'get away'. I also dedicate this chapter to a special friend in particular, who's had a really rough time of it this past week, she was in my thoughts the entire time I wrote this one. Love ya hon.

Meanwhile... 

 

"There you guys are!" Nyota huffs placing a hand on Leonard McCoy's shoulder and dragging him a half step back, revealing the two kids standing in front of him, both looking bored and out of place. "I've been looking for everyone all over the place, but Chekov and Sulu have scattered and I can't find Scotty." She grumbles, glancing around the many faces surrounding them. The event had gone off without a hitch and it seemed everyone, including the top brass, was enjoying themselves with an evening of drinks and United Federation foods. Uhura had said hello to Nurse Chapel during her searching and had met the woman’s fiancé as well as both of her parents. It seemed every time she tried to round up her friends, she was getting side-tracked. 

"Are we gonna blow this fancy food cart or what?" The doctor gripes, "And where are Jim and Spock? I thought they were with you." 

"They're not coming along after all, Leonard." Nyota murmurs, craning her neck to peer over the heads of the crowd around them, lifting her hand and waving at the owner of a ginger head bobbing some paces away from them. Pavel Chekov squeezes his way into their little group a moment later, looking flushed and appropriately wide-eyed. 

"Vhere iz ewerybody else?" He asks, glancing around at their faces in a somewhat unsteady fashion. 

"They aren't with you? I thought you, Scotty, and Hikaru went to get drinks?" Nyota questions, beginning to get frustrated. Why hadn't any of them brought their communicators along tonight? 

"I lost them." Chekov admits sheepishly, "But I vill go find them!" He volunteers, only to have Nyota grab him by the back of the collar and hold him in place. 

"No, you stay, or I'll never find you again." 

"I believe I saw Scotty talking to a reporter about ten minutes ago." Leonard offers, lifting his drink to motion toward their left in the direction of some of the thickest crowds. "A rather heated conversation about the _Enterprise_ in comparison to the new ship _Excelsior_." 

"Oh no..." Nyota groans, "He's probably insulted a dozen people by now." 

"Where are we going?" David blinks, looking up with interest for the first time since Nyota had found them all again. 

"We're all going out to celebrate, sound like fun?" Nyota smiles, "unless you'd rather go home and go to bed?" 

David bristles immediately, "No way!" He scowls, expression softening into confusion once more as Hikaru Sulu joins their group, Scotty in tow and looking rather red-faced. "Are Dad and Mr. Spock coming too?" 

"No, I think they're going to celebrate on their own instead, which means you get to come with us." Nyota says with a bright smile, hoping David won't mind their group being short two. 

"Oh Lord..." Leonard grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Didn't need to know that." He says to Nyota before turning to Scotty and saying, "and you, how many successful Engineers did you insult this time?" 

"I doona know what you're talkin' aboot, Doctor." Scotty replies, but a smarmy smile is stuck on his face and won't be prodded loose, no matter how many times Sulu jabs at him with his elbow. 

"We've already made a load of people uncomfortable tonight, shall we split?" Sulu grins, finishing the rest of his drink in one go and setting the glass down on a nearby table. 

"Yes, before we all get separated again. C'mon." Nyota laughs, waving them toward the nearest exit. "Did anyone bring a car to this thing?" 

Various glances exchanged amongst their group leads her to believe that no; no one had rented a car. Damn. "I guess we'll be calling a public LYFT then." She smirks, "shall we split the bill five ways gentlemen?" 

Sulu groans, "You'd think a couple of Starfleet officers would have a car between them." 

"Where are the Commodore an' Kirk?" Scotty asks in confusion, tipping his chin up to look about them for any sign of their missing party members. 

"They aren't coming Scotty." Nyota says with a gentle smile when a disappointed frown knits the Scotsman's brow. "Don't worry; we'll have plenty of time to catch up with them another time." 

Scotty sighs, "Aye, you're right." 

"You sure you're not too tired Joanna...rather go back to the hotel instead?" Leonard asks his daughter, his voice a little needling as he tries to convince her over to his side of things. 

"Nope," Joanna grins at her father, watching his shoulders slump in disappointment. "I want to go to _Trampoline Galaxy_." She beams, knowing her father cannot possibly say no when she smiles like that, "David too!" 

"Yeah, me too!" David pipes up, already tugging at his tie in an effort to loosen it for comfort. 

"Alright, there's a car on its way guys." Nyota makes herding motions toward them all, shooing them in the direction of the doors, "C'mon guys, move like it's a red alert before we get waylaid again." 

"Ah, crap...where's Keenser?" Scotty mutters, looking around them. 

"I haven't seen him all night!" Sulu quips. 

"Aye, and thas what worries me." Scotty grimaces, "probably run up some pillar or somethin'. Sittin' on tables..." He murmurs distractedly, eyes flitting around the vast room. "I've gotta find 'im, you guys go'n ahead. Fer all the good fer nothin'-" Scotty breaks away from their group with a groan from Nyota. 

"Great, now we'll never find him again." She sighs, jostled by other bodies amongst the crowd as they all make their way out into the hallway. It isn't as crowded out here and Nyota breathes a sigh of relief, it had begun to seem a little claustrophobic in there. 

"Eh, leave him...he can catch up in another car if he has to." Leonard says with a shrug. They all make their way down the hall, weaving past small groupings of officers chatting with civilians, families and friends; all talking to one another animatedly about the Admiral's address and most notably...Spock's resignation from his captaincy. 

It wasn't any surprise to the senior officers of the _Enterprise_ crew however. In fact Nyota had known for months before Spock had gathered them all in the briefing room of the ship to apprise them of his future plans. Honestly, Nyota had been a little shocked at first, but not because of Spock's resignation, more because of the fact that Spock had even thought to discuss the matter with the rest of them. Spock had been talking to her privately about it even before they were due to return home and she knew what the Vulcan looked like once his mind had been made up, so she had figured he wouldn't bother opening the topic up to the rest of their friends. She was glad she had been wrong. It had given the rest of them a chance to voice their concerns, and then their support when Spock had explained his reasoning. Nyota could remember the entire exchange, almost verbatim: 

"Wait, are you serious?" Sulu's voice had cut through the rest of them, ending their murmurs and catching all their attention, including that of their Captain.

Spock inclined his head, a gesture of confusion, "I am quite serious, Lieutenant. I would not have gathered you all here to discuss a matter of importance simply as a..." brown eyes searched their faces needlessly, coming up with a word familiar to them, "'joke'." 

"I can't believe this...first Kirk, now you too?" Sulu leaned back in his seat heavily, looking both defeated and world-weary. He fiddled with his communicator on the table before him, turning it around and around so it's smooth back skittered across the surface of the table under his palm; a nervous habit. 

"Don't tell me you've got a secret kid too." Dr. McCoy grumbled; his expression sour. It might be hard to believe but he wasn't pleased that their Captain had plans to step down from his position. 

"Negative." Spock blinked at the Doctor seated to his left, arching an exasperated brow.

"Well...that's not entirely true, you just happen to know about this kid." Nyota said from her spot toward the end of the table, her arms folded across her chest. Out of them all, she was the least distressed and confused. She shared a long look with Spock, words exchanged with nothing but a glance. That look said, 'personal territory, back off'. She smiled anyway. 

"Iz this about Dawid?" Chekov asked, his voice the smallest amongst them all, his young eyes flitting nervously up at Scotty seated across the table, then down toward their Captain. 

Perhaps Spock hadn't thought this conversation would converge on such a topic, but he took it in stride after a long pause, leaning back in his chair and glancing at his First Officer Lieutenant Commander Caulfield. Her lips were pursed but she didn’t speak, having known Spock the shortest amount of time out of them all. She could not pick out the tells indicating discomfort in the Vulcan Captain like Nyota could. 

"I admit that James and David do have a bearing on my decision, but that is not the main reason for this course of action." Spock explained, brought to a sudden stop at Dr. McCoy's derisive snort. 

"Bullshit, and you know it." 

They all nodded, agreeing with the Doctor, even if they wouldn't have exactly dared to say it in such a way. "Is it tha danger? Tha separation?" Scotty asked, adding his voice to the mix of questions they were all wishing to ask. 

Spock looked down at the stylus in his hands, twisting it over and over between his fingers in his lap. Finally, he said, "I have already been deprived of three years of their lives and have found their absence...a discomfort." He looked up, meeting Nyota's eyes from across the table, her encouraging smile pressing him to explain further, "I have decided that the needs of the few, in this instance... outweigh the needs of the many. Or in this case...the one." 

"They _do_ need you, Captain...but so does Starfleet. What are you going to do if they don't accept your resignation from the _Enterprise_?" Caulfield asked, eyes carefully guarded and glancing at her superior officer with barely concealed worry. 

"They cannot force me to remain the ship's Captain." Spock argued. 

"No, but they can make your life pretty damn inconvenient." Dr. McCoy muttered, distaste evident in his tone. "Make it hard for you to apply for any other position in Starfleet." 

"They would be fools to do so," Nyota added, "because everyone knows...you can't bully a Vulcan into doing what you want him to do." She smirked. 

Spock arched a brow in her direction, unamused, "If they should refuse my decision, I shall have to resign completely from the organization." 

"And do what?" Chekov protested, eyes wide. 

Nyota knew Spock didn’t have to consider this answer, he had discussed it with her already, his voice was steady and unflappable as he replied, "I would pursue a career elsewhere, perhaps at a science facility." 

"So we'll finally be rid of ya, huh?" Dr. McCoy asked, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands together over his stomach, thumbs turned out and turning around together slowly as he considered his Captain thoughtfully. 

"Indeed, Doctor. And I will no longer have to listen to your outbursts of illogical and rampant emotionalism." Spock retorted, but they aren't fighting as they usually would have; a half smile was present on the Doctor's face that he failed to hide.

"Well...when's the wedding then?" Sulu grinned, laughing at Spock's raised brows, an expression of pure alarm for a Vulcan. 

"Pardon?" Spock blinked. 

"Well, you're quitting your job for a guy and his kid, essentially." Sulu chuckled, "must mean things are pretty serious." 

"I...would prefer not to discuss my personal relationships." Spock replied trying to dismiss the rising interest from his officers seated about the table. 

"But why not Spock? Isn't this going to practically be a declaration of love?" Dr. McCoy continued to tease, winning a slight glare from their Captain for his efforts. "I mean, this could be a big career change for you. Who knows, might end up a wife." He snorted. 

The flushed tips of Spock's ears were enough to warn Nyota that this discussion should come to an end, or they’d all be stuck watching their Captain and CMO deep in a true argument in less than a minute. "Alright, alright you two. Kiss and make up." Nyota ordered, getting to her feet and laughing at the twin looks of disgust directed at her from Leonard and Spock in reply to her joke. "Did you guys really think we would all be together again for another five year mission anyway?" She asked, looking around the room at her peers. She saw resignation and sullen nods from them all. "We'll all be moving on to bigger and better things." She smiled. 

"Aye..." Scotty murmured peering down into his glass of water braced against his leg. "Tha 'Dream Team' shall be dismantled." He sighed. 

"Hey, don't make that name official; we can come up with something better than that." Sulu argued, pointing a finger across the table at Scotty. "Like the 'Sassy Seven' or something." 

Dr. McCoy groaned and rolled his eyes, causing Sulu to change his mind and say, "Or perhaps the 'Sarcastic Seven'..." He scowled at their CMO. 

"The 'Slick Sewen'?" Chekov added, glancing around for approval. 

"'Slaphappy Seven'." Dr. McCoy muttered.

"The 'Sociopathic Seven'..." Caulfield snorted. 

Dr. McCoy smirked, "The only sociopath around here is Spock." 

Nyota glanced up and caught Spock's eye, noting the manner in which her Captain peered around the table at them all, as if this was his last day aboard the _Enterprise_ and he wished to remember them all. But then again...he might have been viewing them like animals in their natural habitat. Spock lifted his brow at her when he caught her staring and she shook her head with a small smile, mouthing the words she knew he’d see, "We'll miss you." 

 

Shaken from the memory, Nyota scans the faces scattered around her for her friends, counting heads as they all stand off to the side of the stairs outside Barkley Hall, waiting for their hired car.

"Ah, there he is!" Chekov points their attention toward the head of the cement stairs and they all watch Scotty and Keenser hurrying to meet them. Well, Scotty is hurrying while Keenser looks nonplussed as always. 

"How many times do I have ta say it? Ya doon't just go wanderin' off like that." Scotty scolds the Roylan, who simply shrugs, his black eyes seeming to roll dismissively. 

"Where was he this time?" Leonard asks, folding his arms across his chest, Joanna leaning her head against this arm. 

"Up by tha stage, sittin' on some of tha amplification equipment," Scotty snaps, his hands sliding onto his hips. "Like he owns tha damn place." 

"Warm," Keenser says simply, a creature of very few words. 

"Yeah, well I told ya you shoulda worn yer layers." Scotty grumbles, "now what're we waitin' for?" 

"That." Nyota points and they all turn as what looks like a party bus rolls up to the curb outside the Hall. 

"Holy Mother of God..." Leonard stares, eyes wide, "who's payin' fer that?" 

"Starfleet." Sulu smirks slyly, casting a side-long glance at the Doctor before taking the lead down the stairs, letting out a whoop and casting his hat up into the air, catching it a second later. They all file down the steps, a few clusters of people and groups of reporters lingering and taking their pictures, asking them questions which they all ignore or smile politely for in answer as they head for their escape vehicle. Nyota reaches down and sets her hand on David's shoulder, steering him through the mess until they can reach the open door of the transport. It's a hover craft, of sorts, but when the door hisses shut, Nyota is reminded of the subway trains in underground New York. 

"Hello." She greets their driver, an older man with a chauffeur's hat on. He tips it toward her in greeting, his lips pursed around the wriggling end of a wooden tooth pick.

"Whoa, there's a holo screen in here!" David blurts out in shock as they all move down the line of seats, or more like couches. Joanna slides onto her knees in her dress across one couch cushion to peer out the tinted windows, crossing her arms over the railing behind their seats. 

"Where to?" Their driver finally asks and Nyota glances at Scotty, brows lifted in a silent question. 

"No bars." She says, "We've got minors." 

"Of course not!" Scotty balks at her, "why do ya think I brought me flask?" He pats his pocket, making her roll her eyes. 

" _Trampoline Galaxy!_ " Sulu shouts from the back of the bus, his hands cupped around his mouth to make his voice carry. 

"Did you catch that?" Nyota asks, brows lifted toward their driver, who nods and puts the large vehicle into gear. It shudders then glides forward and Nyota has to cast a hand out to catch herself, everyone settling into the long line up of cushions for the ride. 

"Commodore Spock has a nice ring ta it." Scotty comments; Leonard pulls a face and nods in agreement. 

"Do ya think he'll take up a teaching position again, or be a pencil pusher at Starfleet Command?" Leonard questions. 

"What's stopping him from doing both?" Nyota comments, watching David and Joanna leaning over the backs of the seats and peering at the city passing, pointing out things to one another. It seems their minor age difference of nearly three years doesn't bother them. 

"Nothing, I suppose. Hob-goblin could probably run three positions with his eyes closed." Leonard grumbles. 

"Ya realize that he's still ye superior officer, right?" Scotty reminds him, "ya cannae be talkin' about 'im like that in public." 

"I've been callin' him a hob-goblin since he was First Officer, Scotty. He's always been a step above me, doesn't keep me from talkin' to him like normal." The three of them seem to realize in the same moment what Chekov, Sulu, and the kids have gotten themselves into as Sulu climbs up what looks like a short version of a dancing pole. 

"Oh my God." Nyota has to purse her lips to keep from laughing as Sulu slowly spins around on it, the pole weighted to swirl about. Their helmsman tips his head out, watching Chekov and the kids pass by him in slow revolutions and laughing. 

"Russians inwented pole dancing, you know!" Chekov quips. 

Leonard pales, then flushes bright red, gesticulating wildly at them, "Hey, you kids get down from there! Get off that-...stripper pole. Jesus Christ." Leonard huffs, exasperated and embarrassed. 

"What's a stripper?" David asks, grinning up at Leonard's uncomfortable expression. 

"Nothin' but a bunch of drunks...what, kid?" Leonard mutters, in full 'scold' mode. Then he's flushing a brilliant red again and when the embarrassed spluttering begins, Nyota takes pity on him and pats the bench seat next to her, David coming to sit with her with a gleeful smile.

"What's a 'stripper', Miss Uhura?" David asks. 

"Someone who strips paint off ye walls, kid." Scotty adds, causing both Sulu and Chekov to giggle and snort. 

"You're all a bunch'a kids." Leonard gripes. 

"Compared to you, yeah," Sulu retorts, winning a smack up the back of the head from their good Doctor. 

 

 _Trampoline Galaxy_ ends up being exactly what it sounds like, a huge warehouse simply filled with trampolines all set up side-by-side and covering almost the entire floor. There is a massive foam pit at the back of the warehouse, ropes hanging down from the ceiling for swinging over and into the pits. They all take their shoes off at the edge of the platform, David already itching to try out a trampoline as he scurries to yank his tie, vest, and shoes off, tossing them haphazardly into a small bin next to everyone elses. Their outer uniform blazers go into the bins as well, dressing down for the occasion and leaving them in grey pants and black undershirts. 

"This has 'accident' written all over it." Leonard sighs, surveying the room. Joanna tugs at his hand, trying to get him to budge. 

"C'mon, Daddy!" She complains, "Let’s jump!" 

"Alright, Jo-Jo...but not too high!" Leonard warns his daughter, becoming a hovering parent. 

"Oh, c'mon Doctor," Sulu smirks, "what's the worst thing that could happen?" 

"She could break a bone, or become concussed by colliding with your stupid head." Leonard retorts, glowering at the man with his hands on his hips. 

"There's padding eweryvere!" Chekov argues, shouting half way across the warehouse at them, already leaping from trampoline to trampoline. Nyota laughs, jumping on one next to Scotty's, who jumps once and then shakes his head and walks to the side-lines. 

"I was nae meant ta be quite so airborne like that." Scotty mutters, a hand on his stomach and the other protecting the pocket holding his flask. 

"Spoil sport." Nyota grins as David leaps onto her trampoline. She takes his hands in hers and jumps in time with him, their hair flying about, a wide and beaming smile on the child's face. "See, David will jump with me!" 

They make a game of it after a while, collecting foam balls from mesh bins hanging on the walls and organizing a game of dodge-ball. Leonard seems to appreciate the chance to take out some of his annoyance on his friends, chucking foam balls at them from across the court of trampolines. But of course, no one can beat Sulu’s marksmanship and the helmsman always ends up the last man standing. Nyota takes turns swinging Joanna and David into the foam pits, pushing them across on the ropes and watching them fall giggling into the pits, only to struggle to crawl back out again. 

"I'm glad..." Joanna pants after her second go, "that I wore leggings." She laughs, her hair a mess from jumping and leaping about and sinking into the foam pits. 

"I'm starving!" Sulu comments a few hours later, making everyone else realize how hungry they have gotten while playing their games. 

"Vhere should we go?" Chekov asks, still bouncing on his trampoline. 

"World's our oyster," Scotty quips. "Ooo, oysters." He hums appreciatively. 

David makes a face of disgust, "Yuck!" 

"What about that Federation American Cuisine place?" Nyota asks, glancing around at her friends for approval, "I've never been there, but I've heard it's good." 

"And for once, we don't have to consider their vegetarian options," Sulu chuckles. 

"I'm a vegetarian." Joanna adds, making Sulu groan. 

"No Vulcan and still we've got to cater to restrictions." Sulu teases, lightly shoving Joanna's shoulder and making her smile sheepishly. 

They all return to their transport, their driver putting away his PADD as they file back on again. Not even out of the parking lot, Chekov begins to sing an old Russian song, using the dancing pole as his stage and looping an arm around it, working his friends over like a well-paying crowd. However, his voice isn't all that great... in fact, it's rather cringe-worthy and makes them all laugh more than applaud. 

The restaurant they have all decided on is fancy enough for them to require their jackets again, and they talk David into at least putting his vest back on, if not the tie. "I hate it," he complains, "it feels like a noose." 

"Don't pick the business world then, kid." Leonard comments, following David into the restaurant. They wait to be seated in an outer room, black and white checkered floors at their feet and expensive looking wood paneling surrounding them. Plants of various origins, Terran and alien, are scattered throughout the entryway and Scotty swaggers up to the female behind the seating podium to put in their name and be told their estimated wait time. They mill around in a loose group, peering up at the crystal light fixtures and at odd paintings of abstract things. Nyota snags a menu from the hostess and begins reading the options out loud: 

"They have roasted duck, Scotty." She smiles, watching Scotty swoon. "But they've also got..." She snorts, "Tentacle Rangoon." Nyota makes a 'yuck' face before continuing, David peering over her arm to look at the menu with her. "Sushi, Sulu." 

"Sweet!" Sulu grins, his hands in his pockets. 

"Hasperate Souffle! I've always wanted to try that." Nyota hums. 

"What's tha?" Scotty asks, pointing over her shoulder at a menu item. "Palukoo?" He visibly shudders and Nyota reads the description aloud. 

"A large arachnid indigenous to the Bajoran moons, served over collard greens with a side of savory sauce." Nyota blanches, handing Scotty the menu and wrinkling her nose. 

"We're going to eat spiders...?" David asks, his eyes flitting between Nyota and Scotty on the verge of horror. 

"Only if you order it, laddie," Scotty grins. 

"Oh thank God, they have burgers." Leonard mutters from where he is reading the menu next to Scotty. 

They are seated a little while later, their large party directed to sit at what looks like a long conveyor belt with chairs on either side of it. Scotty and Leonard sit across from one another, Nyota across from David, Joanna across from Chekov and Sulu. "What's the point of a menu if we get to gawk at everything going by?" Leonard asks as they all sit down, a waitress asking for their beverage orders.

Everyone but the kids and Nyota get some form of alcoholic beverage and Nyota glares across the moving belt at Scotty, "I thought you had a flask." She warns. 

"Aye," Scotty frowns, mildly affronted, "but I've always wanted ta try Talaxian Champagne!" 

Together, they watch various dishes covered by transparent plastic domes move past them. Both mammal and marine life made up into dishes of questionable taste are on offer. David ends up grabbing a plate of what looks like noodles, but upon removing the protective dome, finds that not only are there noodles in a sauce with various vegetables, but squirming severed tentacles of what looks to be squid, or something akin to squid and still alive with nerve endings. "Well, at least it's fresh," Sulu remarks, grinning when David looks on in confusion. 

"Why is my food still alive?" He asks; abject horror in his tone. 

"It's just the nerves kid, twitchin' about like that." Leonard explains half-heartedly and seemingly not in any way a comfort to David, who begins to systematically extricate the tentacles from the noodles. 

"What are you going to do with them?" Nyota inquires, glancing around to see if she might find an extra plate for them. Before she can, however, David drops the tentacles into his cup of water, showing them to Joanna next to him. Together they stare in some kind of morbid fascination as the tentacles writhe around in the bottom of the glass. 

"Cool!" David crows. "They shall be my new pets." He grins. 

"Are you going to name them?" Joanna asks. 

"Why?" David frowns, "it won't help me tell them all apart." 

Scotty laughs loudly, as he watches Keenser picking at what looks like a tiny portion of a grain dish set before him. 

"Hey, look." Nyota smiles warmly, indicating a slowly passing bowl of broth, "It's plomeek soup." 

"The Commodore's faworite breakfast." Chekov grins. 

"We could always take it to go?" Sulu offers, glancing down the row of his friends toward Nyota. 

"No," She replies, "It won't taste the same by tomorrow." 

"Christ, what time is it anyway?" Leonard mutters with a glance down at his communicator; it seems he had brought it along after all. "It's past midnight." He groans. 

"Oh, quit yer whinin' old man," Scotty teases, lifting his glass in a toast toward Leonard, "it's hardly past yer bedtime." 

"No, but it's past Joanna's bedtime." Leonard muses, tipping his head forward to look at his daughter, who sticks her tongue out at him. 

Nyota picks at her own dinner, having eaten a little at the ceremony to satisfy herself. She listens to the conversations around her, tilting her head with interest toward Joanna and David as they talk idly with one another. 

"So is Commodore Spock like, your new Dad or something?" Joanna asks, "My Dad's been callin' them twitter-painted does or somethin' like that." She giggles. 

David shrugs a non-committal shoulder, swirling his fork around in his noodles, "I have a Dad though." 

"Yeah but Mr. Spock could be like... your _new_ Dad, like having two dads. My cousin has two dads too. And it's not like he can be your new mom." Joanna argues. 

David squints, tapping at his glass to make his newfound pets squirm and writhe in the water, "He kinda is." David mutters, "He makes my lunch for school and drives me sometimes." 

"Doesn't your Dad do that too though?" Joanna frowns. 

"Well yeah. I don't know," he shrugs again, "he used to read to me a lot...and tuck me into bed when I was little." 

"My Daddy did that too," Joanna points out, "and so did my mom." 

"I think Spock is just... Spock." David murmurs, "He's my friend." He smiles, the expression slow and careful, softening his blue eyes out of their confused state. 

Nyota bites her lower lip and funnels her attention back toward her plate, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping on this sweet little conversation. Spock was David's friend and that knowledge was so very sweet to Nyota. But it also made her wonder if Spock was trying to be more than that, if he had taken to looking after David in the manner the kid was describing, it made Nyota think he was. Spock...a father figure? Now that was interesting to think about. 

"Now what?" Leonard sighs as they leave the restaurant, full and amused by the show of the cooks firing off meats and such over a live grill near their table. 

"There iz zat indoor sky-diving place?" Chekov suggests bravely, "Russians inwented sky-diving!" 

"Oh, did they?" Sulu laughs, "It sounds like Russians invented everything tonight." 

"Oh no, nuh-uh, I'll lose my food." Leonard groans, "No sky-diving." 

"But Dad!" Joanna begins, turning pleading eyes on her father. 

"No way, Kiddo, I've seen you throw up on a tiny boat ride after a full meal. We are not sky-divin', Princess." 

"You two might not be, but I am totally sky-diving." Sulu remarks as they climb back onto their transport, flopping down with a full stomach onto the nearest seat.

"Heights and I are nae the best'a friends, Sulu." Scotty sighs, stretching his legs out across the floor as he sits down on a cushion across from Leonard.

"Shall we vote?" Nyota laughs, "All for sky-diving?" 

Five hands go up, including Nyota's own, and two grown men moan with dread. "I guess that's it then, indoor sky-diving!" 

"Don't they require kids to be accompanied by an official guardian or somethin' though?" Leonard asks and when Joanna gives him a confused look, he nods toward David, "who can sign for David?" 

"I could call my Dad..." David's shoulders lower, the beginnings of a crest-fallen expression shining in his eyes as they glance around their group. 

"I don't know kid; guess we'll have to see." Leonard mutters as Sulu gets up to give the address of the public 'wind tunnel' place called _iFly_ to their driver. 

"You know what; we've all had training in free-falling, so most of us can skip the training course if we just give our Starfleet I.D.s to the operators." Sulu grins, pulling out his wallet and flashing his digital I.D. chip, waggling his brows. 

"C'mon Leonard, it'll be fun." Nyota smiles, prodding Leonard next to her with her elbow. 

"Why on God's green Earth would I want to put my life in peril willingly when I've done that the past five years under contract?" Leonard gripes, his words sending up a chorus of sighs and shaking heads. 

"Fine, you can watch from the observation area then." Sulu offers as their transport lurches and then glides forward down the street. 

_iFly_ ends up being a tall, rectangular building with large windows at the front and when Nyota joins the kids at the party bus windows they are able to watch as people in flight suits take their turns at flight through various glass-enclosed tubes. They all file into the building through sliding glass doors and a woman in a track suit greets them at the front desk. 

"You guys all looking to set up some flight time?" She asks her brilliant smile off-set by her blonde hair tied back into a severe bun behind her head. All-in-all, she looks stream-lined, as if she is ready for flight at any moment. 

"A few of us," Sulu replies, leaning his arm against the lip of the counter and motioning to their group. "At least five, maybe six of us. Keenser, are you going to go?" 

Black eyes roll up to regard Scotty, the two exchanging a look and shaking their heads in unison. "I doon't think he could handle tha G-force." Scotty remarks. 

The woman looks up from her terminal, "Oh, kids as young as three can fly, his height wouldn't be a problem. Everyone flies with an instructor their first turn anyway, to get used to the feeling." 

"Oh, we're all used to it ma'am. We're Starfleet." Sulu grins, plucking at the front of his jacket and pointing at the Starfleet insignia on his chest. 

"I see," the woman replies, making a show of being impressed for Sulu's benefit, "will you all be waving the training program then?" 

"Oh yes." Sulu smirks, only to receive a nervous shove from Chekov at his side. "What, you're not nervous are you, Chekov?" 

"Vell...no, but-" Chekov glances at Joanna and David, who are watching two instructors swirl around inside a glass tube, winds at speeds of one-hundred and sixty miles per hour displayed on a console next to the tunnel. "Vhat about them?" 

"We should all just fly with an instructor the first time, Sulu," Nyota interjects, "it'll make things that much safer." 

"Alright, if you guys could all fill out some paper work before hand, we can get started on your introductions to flight." The woman hands over a PADD and stylus, showing Sulu the important information they all must sign for. 

"Here's your last chance, Doctor." Sulu offers, holding the PADD out toward his friend, "last chance to experience flight." 

"No thanks." Leonard says, pursing his lips. 

"Can I Daddy?" Joanna pleads, hanging onto his arm. 

"You could get injured, Jo-Jo." Leonard argues. 

"Actually, there is very little chance of injury during a flight, sir." The woman at the desk retorts, "and if she is accompanied by a trained instructor, the chances are very slim." 

"C'mon Leonard," Nyota murmurs, hoping to help Joanna wear her father down, "don't deprive her this chance, hm?" 

Scowling, Leonard snatches the PADD from Sulu's waiting fingers and furiously signs after skimming the document, thrusting it into Nyota's hands once he's finished. "There, ya'll happy now?" He grouses, folding his arms across his chest. 

"You're the best!" Joanna beams, hugging her father around the middle. 

David appears at Nyota's side, looking at the PADD in her hands, "what about me?" He asks, "Should I call Dad?" 

Nyota looks to the woman at the desk, "he's with our group but his Dad isn't, do you think it would be okay if I signed given he called his father for permission?" 

The woman looks hesitant and Nyota continues her plea, "I mean, we're all Starfleet here, his Dad's our Captain, I'm sure it'll be fine, do you think you could make an exception just this once?" 

"Wha-?" David blinks up at Nyota and she can tell he looks like he's about to dispute her words and blow her story, so she grips his shoulder firmly, effectively silencing him. "U-Uh yeah...he's their Captain." He splutters, "So can I call him?" 

"I suppose, but you must claim responsibility for him you know." The woman says to Nyota, who nods. 

"I understand." Nyota takes the PADD and steers David a few steps away. "Call your Dad." 

"Dad isn't the Captain anymore," David whispers, his eyes wide and guilty, glancing back at the woman behind the counter. 

"I know that, but she won't, she's been stuck here at work." Nyota smirks, sliding down into a crouch and handing David her communicator.

"Wait...Are you talking about Mr. Spock?" David blinks, confused. 

"The Commodore _is_ your guardian, isn't he?" Nyota argues, noticing a soft flush gathering on David's cheeks as he stares down at the communicator in his hands. 

"I guess..." David mumbles, sliding his thumb over the cool metal of the device in his hand. 

"Besides, she won't be able to doubt a Vulcan, Vulcan's don't lie." Nyota grins; resting her arms over her knees and watching David deliberate and finally flip the communicator open, selecting Spock's communicator number from Nyota's saved contacts list. 

They both wait a few moments and Nyota begins to worry that maybe the two men are otherwise...indisposed and won't answer, but after a fourth tone, the call connects and a familiar voice says, "Spock here?" 

David bites his lower lip, tongue-tied for a moment, Nyota casting him an encouraging look. "H-Hi Spock," David turns his shoulder some, presenting the woman at the desk with his back before continuing, "It's David." 

There is a long pause from the other end of the line before Spock replies, "David is everything alright?" 

"Fine," David shifts from foot-to-foot nervously, "but I was wondering if I could have your permission to go indoor sky-diving. They need to know you guys are okay with that." David swallows. 

After another long pause where Nyota imagines Spock questioning Jim in confusion, Spock's voice emerges from the communicator once more, "Your father wishes to know the terms of this activity. Will there be an adult present to guide you?" 

"Yeah, they've got instructors and everything." David explains; hope beginning to shine in his bright eyes. 

"Am I to speak with one of these instructors now?" Spock inquires, to which David hurriedly whirls around and jogs back to the woman at the desk, handing her the communicator. 

The woman almost fumbles the device before holding it up toward her ear, "Hello, my name is Adrianna, I'm an instructor at _iFly_ , is this the young man's father I'm speaking to?" 

Spock's voice filters through the communicator, steady and confident, "I am the child's guardian, yes." 

Nyota watches the woman's face change, as if she is trying to place the voice but can't quite manage it before she says, "The child will be learning how to fly in two sixty-second sessions, each with an instructor to guide him through winds of one-hundred and sixty miles per hour. Does he have your permission to fly today, sir? Shall I have a member of his party sign for him?" 

Another long pause makes David seem to sweat before Spock replies, "He has my permission. As long as he calls his father once he has completed this activity." 

"Very well, sir. I shall have," Adrianna glances up at Nyota for a name. 

"Nyota Uhura." Nyota supplies, straightening up, still reeling a bit after hearing Spock admit his guardianship aloud. So Spock was claiming parenthood after all? The thought made Nyota want to grin happily. It was time her Vulcan superior took a little happiness for himself. 

"Nyota Uhura sign for the child." Adrianna finishes, handing the communicator back to David, who takes it and steps a few paces away to end the call. 

"Thanks Spock." David murmurs, his voice low but still audible for Nyota to hear. 

"Just be certain to call your father once you have finished, David." Spock replies, "so we are satisfied you are alright." 

"Yeah, sure thing." David smiles, closing the communicator and handing it back to Nyota once she has signed the waiver form. 

Those who are signed up to fly end up in a locker room of sorts, each given a jump suit to put on over their clothes and lockers to place their personal belongings in. They are each given a helmet to wear, and bands with which to tie their hair back for the two ladies. After they are lined up outside a flight tunnel, their instructor talks to them about safety and communication signals, handing them each a pair of goggles. 

In the observation area on the other side of the flight tunnel sits Leonard, Scotty, and Keenser. All of them watch with shaking heads and varying degrees of arched brows and narrowed eyes. Joanna gives her father a thumbs up before entering the tunnel to go first, hovering in the open doorway as the fans cycle through their start up, making conversation nearly impossible in the rest of the room as the wind roars loudly in the glass tunnel. The instructor motions Joanna into the tunnel and they all watch as she floats up to a horizontal position, face down, arms and legs stretched out until the instructor curves her arms in, walking her around the whole circumference of the tunnel by hanging onto her suit and arms. When the wind picks up, the instructor lets his legs lift behind him and joins her, the pair of them spiraling gracefully up through the tunnel. 

Looking across the glass toward Leonard, Nyota watches the Doctor tense, watching his daughter defy gravity while looking both winded and terrified. But Joanna is beaming when she comes out of the tunnel, face flushed and strands of hair sticking out through her pony tail at the back of her neck. "That was awesome!" She shouts, giving David a high-five as he gears up to go next.

They each take their turns through the tunnel twice, Sulu foregoing an instructor to fly on his own, spinning around and around in the wind. "Jim would have loved this!" Nyota shouts over the noise to Chekov, who bobs his head in avid agreement. 

After their session ends, Nyota checks the time on her communicator and lifts her brows in surprise, because the whole thing only took about an hour and a half. They all change out of their suits and helmets; the lines about their eyes from the goggles making them all laugh at each others faces as they right themselves and smooth down their wind-swept hair. By this time, it's after three in the morning and Nyota is beginning to feel exhaustion creep in through the edges of her excitement, noting the same feeling on all the faces of her friends. "Well, should we all head in for the night?" She asks, glancing around their group as they rejoin with the three spoil-sports in the observation area. 

"Yeah, I'm beat..." Sulu huffs, hanging his head with his hands perched on his hips. 

"Aye, watchin' ya all tired me oot." Scotty agrees, shaking his head. 

"Well, we've got to take David back home." Nyota ruffles the boy's hair, all fluffy and sticking up from his flight session and he grins at her, dodging out from under her hand. 

"You guys could all come over. Dad's got every holo movie under the sun..." David chimes in. 

"Would yer Daddy mind?" Leonard drawls, "All of us crashin' at his place?" 

"You guys are my friends too, and I'm inviting you." David says stubbornly. They all return to their bus, piling back on and settling in as David gives the driver his address. Tiredly, they all talk about the ceremony again and the subject of Spock's speech comes up. 

"I don't know why, but I was kind of expecting a bunch of gasps of horror to go up through the crowd when he said he was resigning as Captain," Sulu chuckles. 

"Or a svarm of media to attack him," Chekov agrees, miming a mic in his hands and shoving it toward Sulu's face, "Commodore, are you resigning for love?" He laughs; Sulu shoving his shoulder and making him topple over across the cushioned seats. 

"Two of the best in Starfleet, careers takin' a back seat to domesticity. If Jim had told me he was quittin' for you, I wouldn't of believed 'im kid." Leonard mutters, stretching his arm out along the back of the seats and glancing at David across the bus from him. 

"Is Dad really so different from before?" David asks, interest dispelling the sleepiness from his eyes as he questions some of his father's closest friends. 

"Let’s just say your Daddy was a genius with a goal in mind." Leonard smirks. 

"That's one way of putting it. I would have called your father something entirely different years ago." Nyota admits. "Arrogant, self-centered, over-confident..." 

"All the qualities for a good Starship captain, I suppose." Sulu laughs. 

"Ha, ha," Leonard says sardonically, "yeah, if he wants to get his entire crew killed." 

"Was he really that bad?" David blinks, seemingly shocked, unable to picture his father in such a light. 

"Naw, Jimmy was a good guy." Leonard sighs, "Still is, in fact he's a better one now, thanks to you. Havin' a kid changes everything." Sliding a hand over his daughter's shoulder, he tugs her into his side, kissing the top of her sleepy head. 

"He was just never the nurturing type, I guess you could say." Nyota explains, easing a little of David's confusion. "Or, at least, we never thought he was." 

"He gawe up a promising career to be your father, Dawid." Chekov completes, leaning over his knees with his hands folded before him, a slow smile on his lips, "someting only great men do." 

"Great men..." Leonard nods, "good way of puttin' it kid." 

David looks thoughtful at their words, turning his head to direct his gaze out the window behind him and curling his legs up on the seat, his cheek resting against his arm along the back. Nyota smiles, their group falling into their own silent contemplations as they are driven through the streets of San Francisco. 

Arriving outside David's house a half hour later, they all brandish their credit chips and pay their tired driver, thanking him for a fun night. Leonard is the first to speak as they all slowly walk up the driveway, Nyota squinting down at her hand in the dark for the smudged numbers of the garage door code. 

"Nice place..." he says, hands in his pockets. 

"Bigger than anything we've looked at." Sulu agrees with a glance at Chekov tottering along beside him, the younger man looking about three steps from passing out. 

"Now what is this fine piece 'o machinery?" Scotty asks as they file into the garage, noticing the old Corvette under its tarp. 

"One of Dad's projects," David yawns, already trudging up the steps to the house.

"She's a beaut." Scotty rumbles, patting a rear fender in appreciation. 

Upstairs, they all fan out through the house, Sulu heading for the bathroom and David toward his room, the house phone in his hands to call his father with. Chekov and Scotty linger in the living room and Leonard and Joanna slump on the sofa there while Nyota goes in search for some water in the kitchen. 

Having changed out of his suit and tie, David returns in sweats and an over-sized shirt that looks suspiciously like his father's Starfleet undershirt. "We could watch a holo movie?" He asks. 

"Aye, sounds like a plan." Scotty agrees; sinking into one of the old armchairs in the living room and pushing his shoes off his feet with a relaxed sigh. 

"Why don't you choose somethin' kid?" Leonard asks, leaning his elbow upon the arm of the sofa and lowering his head to rest in that hand, Joanna leaning into his side with her eyes already closed. 

"Anybody want some popcorn?" Nyota offers with a shrug, "I saw an air-popper in there." 

Only nods answer her and she moves back into the kitchen, Chekov on her heels looking for a glass for some water as well. David winds up finding extra blankets and pillows in a closet down the hall and hands them out, claiming his own from his bedroom and making a nest for himself on the floor as they all pick a movie. Nyota watches from the entryway of the dining room, the air-popper making noise behind her in the kitchen. 

She smiles at what she sees; Leonard and Joanna already passed out on the sofa with Chekov perched on the end opposite them, halfway there himself. Scotty barely has his eyes open, face lit by the glow of the holo screen. Keenser is perched on the coffee table, a vacant stare directed up at the screen, his uniform hat resting next to him. Scotty mumbles a half-hearted, 'git down' to his friend, who grumbles but slides to the floor, sitting cross-legged next to David, who is curled up in his comforter. Nyota ends up eating most of the popcorn herself because passing it around the room seems like a fruitless endeavor, considering most of her friends are already asleep before the opening credits are even finished. 

She checks the chronometer in the room, which reads fifteen after four in the morning. They had been out all night; five adults who should know better, two kids, and a Roylan. Some might have considered it a low-key night, but not Nyota. This was her family after all. Even Leonard, who mostly bitched throughout their outings. Sulu too, who always found a way of making things more awesome, more exciting and dangerous. Chekov, who rarely spoke up but always laughed. Then there was Scotty, a pillar of undying support and sometimes the voice of reason...when Spock wasn't around. 

Her eyes drift toward the end table by the sofa, blinking as she recognizes the Vulcan instrument resting there on its stand. Spock's lyre. But of course it would be here, this was his home now. It would be odd, not to see it on the _Enterprise_. The end of an era, the beginning of a new future for them all, and not just for Spock. It was hard to believe that in about a year, they would all be moving on. Spock would no longer be their Captain. Leonard was talking of retiring from Starfleet all together, and Sulu had his hopes set on the Excelsior. Would only Chekov, Uhura, and Scotty be returning to their home in the stars together? The thought saddens her, and when every last eye has closed around her, Nyota reaches for the controls to the holo screen, muting the sound and getting up from the chair she had claimed, seeking out some kind of comfort she doesn’t know if she will find. A slow wander through the house begins to settle her as she gazes on the various photographs of her former Captain and his son scattered throughout the halls. She touches their frames, witnesses moments of happiness frozen in time, preserved like happiness should be. 

She doesn’t dare go upstairs; a glance past all the downstairs rooms tells her what she would find and she doesn’t need to invade Spock and Jim's room, doesn’t need to find the evidence of their life together, their things interwoven and sharing space. She is content as long as she knows Spock is happy, and in a way, she can feel it. His things are scattered throughout the house; his PADD charging on a dock in the kitchen, his meditation mat in what looked to be an office, the room smelling of his incense. 

Slipping outside into the early morning gloom, Nyota finds herself in a small backyard overgrown with ferns and other vegetation, a little table and chairs set to her right on the modest patio. Peering up at the fading stars, she wraps her arms around herself and leans her shoulders back against the siding of the house, a shudder moving through her. She is scared, in a way. In most cases she can handle change, it is required of her to know how to adapt, it means survival. But she doesn’t know if she would want to adapt to a life without Spock, her friend. Biting her lip, she swallows back the threat of emotion, just as a hand coming to rest on her arm startles her. "Scotty..." She breathes, blinking up at her friend. 

"Are ye alright, lassie...?" Scotty asks softly, blue eyes beseeching and concerned. It's enough to make Nyota drop her shoulders, hanging her head and turning to lean on the man, as his arm slides behind her shoulders and holds her. Always so supportive. 

"Fine..." She whispers, "Or at least, I will be." It isn't like she will never see Spock again, and she knows she is happy for him, pleased that he has a family again after losing so much over the past few years. Besides, it seems she'll always be able to count on Scotty and she sighs as his arm tightens around her, reminding her of his presence. Lifting her head, she smiles at him, and his thumb slides under her eye, pushing away her tears with a stern expression. 

"Now, we're suppos't ta be celebratin' 'ere..." Scotty murmurs, "not weepin'." 

Nyota huffs out a soft laugh, curling her hands in the front of Scotty's shirt, tipping her head down and closing her eyes when warm lips press against her forehead. "Don't let me think about the past, Monty..." She whispers. 

"Aye...only the future, Ny." He mumbles, "I woon't be leavin' ya." 

Nyota smiles, pressing her cheek into Scotty's shoulder. Their _Enterprise_ family may be scattering across the galaxy, but they would never forget one another. Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any readers who do not feel comfortable commenting on a public forum, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	7. Deeper Waters Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending the rest of the early morning together after an odd wake up call from David, Jim and Spock have some much needed discussions and generally lay about and have a 'lie-in'. Upon returning home to a house full of sleepy Starfleet officers, Spock places a transmission to his Father, Sarek's tone a cause for worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo guys! Welcome back for another on time update, woo hoo! I've been a good little writer so far, sticking to my schedule. But this chapter couldn't have been finished without the help of my beta reader, [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate), so thank you Kate! 
> 
> I also want to give a shout out and a thank you to [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/pseuds/MissBAMF) for her continuous support and willingness to chat with me about my fic and my concerns about it, even with how busy her life has been lately. 
> 
> This chapter has actually been split up into two parts, so _Deep Waters Part Two_ will be posted next week (on Valentines day, of all days!). If I hadn't split this chapter up, it would have been another long 20K, and I know that doesn't bother some of you, but I wanted to keep the themes of these two chapters separate from one another to give the fic better flow. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter to one of my new favorite [songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nh9_t82ifiU) by **Asbjorn** entitled _The Love You Have In You_. I hope you enjoy it if you choose to listen while reading this chapter. And again, I hope you guys have a good week and the world treats you right! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter.  <3

"What...is that noise?" Jim grunts his voice groggy and rasping, half muffled by the pillow his face is shoved against. 

"It sounds...like a communicator." A gruff voice mutters near his shoulder, causing Jim to turn his head across his pillowcase, his nose meeting with a mussed black cap of hair. 

"Are you on my pillow, Mr. Spock?" Jim smirks. 

"Mmn...Negative," Spock sighs, rolling away across the sheets and sliding from the bed, having to climb over the thick mirrored edge encircling their plush little island. 

Jim rolls over to watch him in the low light of the room, folding his hands behind his head and grinning as the naked Vulcan shuffles through their discarded clothes on the floor at the end of the bed. "It doesn't sound like mine..." He yawns, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "So it can't be David." 

"Spock here?" Spock answers his own device and Jim can hear a sliver of confusion in that voice, because who damn well calls at one in the morning? Jim squints at the chronometer by the hotel bed and corrects himself, mouth dropping open. Not one in the morning, almost _two_! 

"It is David." Spock says, the statement dragging Jim's attention away from the chronometer. He has his communicator pressed against his bare chest and Jim sits up with a groan, rubbing his hands down his face. 

"What's he want?" Jim grumbles, "Is he okay?" 

"He has assured me he is functional, but wishes to have...my permission to participate in what he calls 'indoor skydiving'?" Spock tilts his head, arching a brow at Jim. 

"What the hell?" Jim squints up at Spock poised at the end of the bed and leans his arms against his bent knees. "No fuckin' way, it's two in the morning, why isn't he in bed?" 

"Nyota _did_ mention they would be celebrating quite late." Spock points out, most unhelpfully. 

"Yeah, but I thought she meant like...midnight." Jim grumbles, hating that he sounds like some old, grouchy parent. "Wait, he wants to do _what_ , exactly?" Jim lifts his hand toward the communicator, "let me talk to him." 

"He is asking _my_ permission, James." Spock clarifies, and dammit if Jim doesn't see a smirk in those brown eyes. 

"Yeah, but I'm his father." Jim glares. 

"It is required training for a Starfleet officer to learn how to free-fall properly, sky diving is something we are all certified in. There can be no harm in this activity. He seems...hopeful, Jim. This is something he wishes to do." Spock argues. 

"He could get hurt; they make you sign waivers for that shit Spock." Jim huffs. 

"Your father wishes to know the terms of this activity. Will there be an adult present to guide you?" Spock questions after lifting the communicator to his ear again, Jim's mouth dropping open when he is denied the chance to talk to his own son. Jim listens to the one-sided half of the conversation trying not to sulk, glaring up at Spock until the Vulcan ends the call. 

"That was underhanded and deviant, Mr. Spock." Jim mutters, lifting his chin haughtily. 

"You know as well as I do how safe those training courses are, James. He will be fine. He promised to call back once he is finished." Spock says, placing his communicator on the ledge at the bottom of the bed.

Jim slides forward onto his belly across the sheets, folding his arms and lowering his chin onto them as Spock moves back around to his side of the bed to climb in under the warm blankets again. "But what about the location of this place, who's he with, who else is going to be doing the sky diving? These are all questions I would have liked to ask him if you had let me." Jim mutters sullenly. 

"Jim." Spock's tone makes Jim look back over his shoulder at his lover, wincing at the bland expression on the Vulcan's face. 

"Shit...Am I turning into one of those over-protective mother hens like Bones?" Jim scowls and is only met with Spock's continued silence, which means a 'yes', most definitely. Dammit. 

"He will be safe, James." Spock assures him quietly, only making Jim feel more ridiculous as he sits up and flops back down on his back next to Spock at the head of the bed. 

"Wait, when did I even fall asleep?" Jim grumbles. 

"Ten minutes past eleven." Spock answers him. 

Groaning, Jim rolls onto his side and into Spock, nudging his partner's shoulder with his head and throwing an arm out over his waist. "I can't remember the last time I passed out that hard, but I was probably drunk." Jim snorts. 

"Given your human nature you may have suffered undue exhaustion from participating in such a prolonged mind-meld as we did two and a half hours ago." Spock explains, reminding Jim of the hours they had spent tangled up in one another, physically and mentally in a way Jim had never fully experienced before. They had relearned one another’s bodies and minds, connecting on a deeper level than Jim had ever felt with anyone. Four years ago, if Jim had been able to see this future, he doesn't believe he would have been so open to it. 

In a way, it's frightening because he can feel, in a small part of him that is undefined and hard to analyze, that he is no longer just himself, he is also Spock. Their emotions and thoughts have commingled for so long that Jim cannot remember if some of those thoughts or emotions had been his own, or if they had come from his partner. But rather than find it frightening and all consuming, Jim feels it as strangely comforting. Never again will he be truly alone, never again will he look up into the vast expanse of stars and think that there is someone out there better for him, someone he could possibly never find. 

"I do have a bit of a headache, now that you mention it." Jim mutters closing his eyes as Spock curls an arm around him and idly rests his hand against the back of Jim's head. 

"Ashayam..." 

Jim blinks, jolted from a doze at the Vulcan endearment uttered in his partner's low voice. "Mmn?" Sitting up on one elbow, Jim peers down at Spock in the gloom of their suite, resting his hand in the center of Spock's chest over a dusting of soft, black hair. 

"Perhaps...I should have discussed this with you earlier." Spock begins haltingly, suddenly making Jim nervous. Or is that Spock's nervousness twisting around in the back of his mind? Is that even possible, for Jim to be able to sense his lover's emotions so readily now? 

"What is it?" Jim frowns, feeling like this topic might need a little light shed on it. He sits up, crossing his legs and calling to the suite's computer. "Computer, raise the lights twenty percent." There sounds a chirp of recognition before the lights around them go up, making Jim squint and blink a little until his eyes can adjust. Spock's own eyes close for a moment and when they open again, Jim catches a glimpse of that rumored second eyelid flicking back into place behind his primary lids. 

Rather than remain prone, Spock sits up and twists his body to face Jim, his hair adorably mussed, making Jim reach out and pat it down into place with a slightly smug grin. "You are aware that I was betrothed once, before...to T'Pring." Spock continues slowly, making Jim wonder at the direction of this conversation. 

"Yes," Jim nods slowly, "but that bond was severed."

"Indeed, but in its place, a new one has formed, between you and me." Spock explains. 

"Right, you said we were linked before, back in Iowa, _years_ ago. But we've only just reunited Spock, what's this about?" Jim questions. 

"My mind," Spock looks down at his hands resting idle in his lap and Jim reaches out to take them in his, cupping his palms beneath the backs of his Vulcan's hands and watching those long fingers curl up toward Spock's palms. "It has yearned for you these past three years, more strongly than I have ever experienced before." 

Was this something Jim was going to need to be more awake for? He's beginning to think so as Spock struggles to piece his words together. "So we have a strong affinity, you mean? Compatible minds, I think you once said?" 

"Yes," Spock agrees, "our reunion has only seemed to strengthen it. My mind grows exceedingly more open to you the more time I spend in your company. The link is far more tangible than what it was three years ago." 

Jim swallows, "You mean, like more permanent." 

"Not quite." Spock admits making Jim's stomach feel like it's full of butterflies. "I would not have knowingly connected us in such a bond without your agreement." 

Vaguely, Jim wonders if he has just unintentionally offended Spock and he reaches up to cup the Vulcan's cheek in his hand, "Sorry," he murmurs, even though all he gets out of Spock is the Vulcan's dismissive shake of the head. "So, what you're saying is we have a betrothal bond? Like what you had with T'Pring?" 

Another shake of the head, "Negative, for I have not initiated one. I had thought that perhaps...unwittingly, I might have," Spock's eyes drop away from Jim's face, cheeks blooming a soft jade in what Jim presumes to be embarrassment. 

"Might have bonded us without knowing?" Jim finishes, frowning. "Is that even possible?" 

"I had thought it was not and as of tonight, we are not bonded. I have ascertained this while spending the duration of our stay both in a meld and out of one with you." Spock's tone changes, the hesitance leaving him and the embarrassment of earlier fading, making Jim's shoulders relax again.

"Is it something that would be difficult, holding back from initiating a bond like that?" Jim asks, confused and concerned. If this longing Spock speaks of is strong enough, would it cause Spock some unnecessary discomfort? 

"No, James, I am in control of my impulses." Spock denies, "You needn't worry." 

"I'm...not." Jim denies. Was Spock thinking he was going to be mad about this or something? At least, that was the way he was coming across to Jim; avoiding eye-contact, nervous, embarrassed. "Wait, did you think I'd be mad about this?" 

"I had believed that perhaps you would be less inclined to consider such a union between us given your reluctance three years ago to consider me as a potential mate." Spock begins, "I regret not bringing this matter up at an earlier date; you should have been apprised of the possible outcomes of-" 

"Hang on one minute." Jim interjects, holding up a hand to silence his lover's deluge of words, all very formal and detached. The lack of inflection in Spock's tone, however, doesn't disguise his true feelings from Jim. "I'm not _mad_ Spock, not even a little. Confused, maybe. Worried, a little. But I'm not mad." 

Spock's shoulders seem to ease at this revelation and Jim smiles, leaning forward to press their mouths together in a tender, brief kiss. He is pleased that when he pulls away, Spock seems a little more collected. "I knew what I was getting myself into three years ago, Spock. I may not know all the ins and outs about dating a Vulcan, but I've had some experience with your telepathy and I know attachments can be formed. God, Spock...when I was freaking out three Christmases ago because I thought we'd grow apart, you assured me we wouldn't; you explained that we were linked. If I was going to be mad, it would have been then." 

Jim chuckles when Spock arches a brow, brown eyes wandering away in thought. It would seem that Jim's partner hadn't considered that point. "So...what would be so different about initiating a betrothal bond?" Jim asks, feeling a swell of love and trust from Spock where their hands are still loosely linked between their laps. 

"I am...uncertain, given that I have no experience with a betrothal bond between myself and a human." Spock confides and Jim feels a little thrill at the knowledge. Another unknown. 

"What have we got to lose...?" Jim asks after a short time, the two of them gazing at one another steadily. "Are you going to get down on one knee for me, Spock?" He asks with a smirk, which quickly turns into a wide grin when Spock narrows his eyes at him. 

"A Terran tradition regarding matrimonial bonds?" Spock asks. 

Jim nods, ducking his head and carding his fingers through his own hair, "Jeez, Spock. It's not even been a week yet and we're going to get... _engaged_?" 

"You are concerned we might be moving too swiftly in our relationship?" Spock asks, and that sensation of discomfort is back, making Jim grit his teeth as the feeling itches over the nape of his neck. When he lets go of Spock however, the feeling ceases and he breathes out a sigh. 

"I don't know; it's not like we've ever proceeded at a normal pace, you and I." He frowns, "I mean we dated for what, two months? Were separated for three years, during which I moved you into my damn house." Jim snorts, amusement chasing the vestiges of Spock's discomfort away from his mind. "I don't think you can exactly call us conventional." Stifling a yawn behind his closed fist, Jim reaches for a pillow, hugging it around the middle and stretching out onto his back against the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he continues, "Would it be, you know...official? Like, would we have to go sign any paper work or something, to be betrothed?" 

"A betrothal bond is simply a deeper telepathic link between two individuals who are promised to one another. You would...be available to me if there is a chance my biology adheres to the Vulcan norm." Spock explains, but his words only cause more confusion and questions in Jim. 

"So we wouldn't be...married." He questions, needing this clarification. He isn't sure if he is ready for that step, but it isn't that he thinks he could ever be without Spock in any capacity, rather his reluctance stems from his past insecurities. What if he screws it up? What if he fucks things up simply by being human? Spock may be a Vulcan-Human hybrid, but there was no telling if they could even sustain a bond with Jim being fully psi-null. But then, isn't he overlooking Amanda Greyson, Spock's mother? 

"No, a marriage bond is different, James." Spock's voice sounds closer than Jim had anticipated and when he turns his head, it's to find the Vulcan stretched out on his side next to him, arm pillowed beneath his head. 

Rolling to face Spock, Jim chucks the pillow aside and rests his hand on Spock's bare hip, thumb stroking warm skin, his actions causing a shiver of pleasure to echo between them, another emotion indistinguishable and undivided. "Let me think about it." Jim grimaces, realizing that this isn't the first time he's asked Spock to wait for him. It seems that is his lot lately. 

"I would not pressure you to do otherwise." Spock murmurs, his voice subdued, eyelids heavy. 

"I still want to be with you, I don't need to think about it because I'm some wishy-washy tart." Jim smirks, studying Spock's features, slowly becoming more readable to him in these days past. "I just don't want to rush into anything. I wish I knew more about how this would affect us. I guess I just-" 

Spock interrupts him this time, "-wish to give me time to change my mind." 

Jim grows very still, his lips parting in shock, his eyes glancing down to where his hand is still resting against his lover's hip. He snatches it back with a slight glare, but there isn't any malice in the expression, "Reading my thoughts, Mr. Spock?" 

"You are not shielding them from me." Spock retorts, but his words are soft, if not a little apologetic. "James, why would I choose to deny myself such a bond with you?" 

"I don't know," Jim shrugs, "maybe now that you've spent a substantial amount of time knocking around in there with me," he gestures up at his head with an annoyed flap of his hand, "you've come to realize how fucked up I really am." He tries to downplay his words with laughter, but the sound emerges from his lips hollowly. 

"Your mind is unique. Would I crave it if I did not desire it? If I did not desire _you_?" Spock argues, and Jim feels stupid for needing that validation, but it does help ease a little of Jim's discomfort. 

"I don't know why I continue to doubt, I've seen; hell...I've _felt_ what you feel for me." Jim drops his gaze from Spock's face, taking a moment to bite back the emotion linked to those memories, to those moments in their melds. "Maybe it's just a bad habit now." 

"You have been wounded," Spock murmurs, "such a wound takes time to heal. I will continue to affirm my regard for you, if it will help you to believe it." 

Jim's lips purse into a tight smile, and he scoots forward across the sheets and dips his head to press his forehead into Spock's sternum, curling an arm over the Vulcan's side for comfort as he shifts his legs to tangle between Spock's own. "Thank you." Jim whispers, "Let's just...take it one day at a time, okay?" 

"Of course." Spock replies, his hand lifting to cradle the base of Jim's skull, encouraging him to lift his head from hiding. When their eyes meet, Spock squeezes the nape of Jim's neck, exerting comforting pressure over tired muscles. Jim's eyes flicker, a low moan sounding deep in his throat in response to Spock's caring gesture. Blue eyes fall shut into relaxation and Spock continues to press the fingers of one hand through Jim's hair and over the tender places of his head and neck, knowing just how to soothe his partner both by experience and by Jim's reactions. 

"You're going to put me back to sleep." Jim warns groggily, his words slightly slurred. 

"That is my intention." Spock admits softly, his voice pitched low and calm. 

"Nnn, no," Jim moans, frowning and moving his head forward out of Spock's grasp. He rolls forward and pushes at Spock's shoulder, forcing the Vulcan onto his back and rolling a top him. "I've got to wait up for David's call." He mutters, folding his arms over Spock's chest and lowering his chin to rest on them. "You're supposed to be keeping me awake, after all. If we're going to get engaged, this is our honeymoon right?" He grins. 

"'Honeymoon'?" Spock arches a brow at him, folding his hands behind his head. 

"It's where two newlyweds ditch responsibilities in order to get out of town and have a lot of hot and reckless sex." Jim laughs at Spock's expression, or lack thereof. "Or maybe in our case, to 'veg' about and talk too much about David and end up worrying and going home early." He grimaces, "shit, Spock, I don't want to be one of those parents." 

"You are not a 'fussy parent', James." 

Jim's mouth drops open and he sits up, straddling Spock about the waist, "Stop stealing words out of my head, Spock." He chuckles, "you're not supposed to be that perceptive." 

At that moment, Jim's communicator chirps and vibrates from somewhere in the room and Jim glances around. "Shit, where are my pants?" Scrambling off of Spock, Jim goes in search for the device, eventually finding them in the bathroom and answering just in time to catch his son. 

"Hey Dad, we're back." David mumbles, sounding exhausted. 

"Hey bud, you sound wiped. Going to bed? Did you have fun?" Jim asks, wandering back into the bedroom and crawling beneath the sheets alongside Spock. 

"Yeah, it was fun." Sounds of David shuffling about filter through to Jim's end of the call. "We're all going to watch a movie." 

"Sounds like you're going to be sleeping all day come morning then." Jim points out, "especially if you want to make practice in the evening." 

"Uh-huh. I will. G'night Dad," David mutters after an audible yawn. 

"G'night David." Ending the call, Jim places his communicator on the bedside table, rolling over and mushing his pillow into comfortable submission. "They're going to watch a movie. I guess the whole crew is over at the house after all." He hums, stretching briefly before finally settling down, nudging himself up against Spock's back and curling into him, stealing the position of 'big spoon' for now. 

"Where will they all rest?" Spock asks; a frown in his voice that fails to translate onto his face. 

"Who knows; who cares...the floor, the couches." Jim mutters, shrugging lazily and pressing his lips in a kiss to the curve of Spock's exposed shoulder before he brings the sheet up to cover it, draping an arm over Spock's side. "I'm more concerned about how we'll get them all awake in the morning."

/OoO\

"Mn, morning Commodore," Jim's sleep roughened voice is what wakes Spock some hours later, or at least it is what wakes him fully, the jut of his partner's early morning habits a firm and insistent press into the small of Spock's back being an added factor to his awakened state. 

Opening his eyes , he finds it is strange to wonder where one is for a brief moment, for it had never happened to Spock before now; he was usually fully aware of his surroundings upon waking. However, due to the few hours of sleep they had both managed to obtain that night and the mental exhaustion brought on by their continuous meld, Spock seemed to be experiencing disorientation for the first time in his life. "Mn," He grunts, hoping it is a satisfying reply to Jim's smug voice behind his ear. 

"How's it feel to be Starfleet's newest and youngest Commodore on record?" Jim is grinning. Spock can feel Jim’s smiling lips pressed against the back of his shoulder; the same shoulder Jim had lain pressed against through the remainder of the night, his arm tightly curled over Spock's side with his fingers loosely resting across Spock's chest. 

"I am _‘feeling’_ the same as I always have." Spock replies, his brain not yet supplying him with a more adequate response. 

"Oh yeah? Nothing new at all?" Jim asks, causing Spock some confusion. Because no, the only thing that is new is his continued grogginess and the slight dizziness he will need to quell. "I mean, tell me if I'm wrong, but this doesn't exactly happen all that often." Jim remarks just before his hand slides down the length of Spock's torso, fingers dipping toward the apex of his legs and lightly caressing a somewhat swollen appendage, catching Spock entirely off guard. He must tense, because Jim's grin falters, the flux of his emotions wafting toward confusion. 

"Are you...okay, Spock?" Jim questions as he withdraws his hand to rest it against Spock's hip. 

Frowning, Spock tries to muddle through an explanation. "I believe I may have become...influenced by your thoughts and emotions throughout the night, which has led me to be rather...indisposed." Pursing his lips, Spock closes his eyes, trying to will the biological response away, but Jim's body is fully aligned with his own and the warmth and emotional transfer from that contact alone leads Spock to distraction. He could raise his mental shields; block Jim out of their shared space with one another, but to do so would not go unnoticed. Even if Jim is largely psi-null, his impressions are not to be underestimated, Jim would sense his withdrawal. 

"Wait, really? Like, my dreams?" Jim asks. 

"I am uncertain, for I have never experienced this before." Spock admits, reaching for the sheets and peeling them back to get out of bed, but Jim's hand tightens on his hip. 

"I'm...sorry?" Jim frowns and Spock turns to regard him, their faces suddenly a whole lot closer than he had anticipated. Surely their meld had not affected him _this_ much? "I mean, it's not like I could have controlled it." 

"I do not require an apology." Spock says dismissively, but there is an unconscious gentleness to his tone and he realizes then that the hours of close and unguarded proximity to Jim have had more of an effect on him than he had initially estimated. His guard is down, his mind receptive and open, his emotions unchecked. Perhaps he should meditate on the matter, for surely this wasn't common to be so easily influenced by one man's mind. 

"Do you require my...help, then?" Jim asks; his words slow and tilted in offering as his eyes skim Spock's form, lingering on his body exposed past the line of sheets Spock had pushed back. 

Despite his attempt at controlling his reaction, Spock feels his face and the tips of his ears heat, the issue only exacerbated by Jim's brilliant grin. Before he can come up with a decent reply, Jim is reaching for his hand tangled in the sheets and bringing it toward his face, curving Spock's palm against his cheek. When Spock shifts his thumb to stroke his partner's cheekbone, Jim shifts and catches it instead against his lips, flicking his tongue in an erotic display against the pad of Spock's thumb. 

Shuddering, Spock casts Jim a weak glance, "That is not, in fact, helping." He murmurs, making Jim laugh softly under his breath. 

"C'mon, Spock," Drawn from the bed, Spock follows Jim into their en suite, only realizing Jim's intentions once he turns the shower on. 

"We bathed last night," Spock says, about to pitch an argument because...more water? 

Jim rolls his eyes, "Yeah, but we spent half the night having sex after that. Not afraid of a little water, are you?" Blue eyes glint with wicked amusement at Spock's expense before Jim disappears into the shower stall, the glass door left open in an invitation. 

Holding back a sigh, Spock steps in after him and closes the glass door, effectively sealing them in a cocoon of steam and hot water. Even if it is a discomfort to be wet again, Spock has to admit that the heat does serve a purpose as Jim shifts to give him time beneath the shower head. Spock lingers there a few moments, tipping his head back and clenching his eyes shut as the water cascades down over his face and shoulders. "I do not," Spock begins as he tips his head down, wiping his hand over his face to wipe it clear of water, "see the logic in sharing such a small space." 

"Turn around." Jim's voice is controlled, firm and commanding and it takes Spock less than a second to place it. Jim is using his authoritative tone on him. Lowering his eyes to regard his partner, Spock arches a silent brow of inquiry, but he doesn't get an answer side from Jim impatiently spinning a finger around in the air until he complies.

Fingers comb through Spock's hair, encouraging his head to tilt back into the embrace of Jim's palms. It's only when foam begins to drip down the back of Spock's neck that he realizes Jim is washing his hair for him, an unfamiliar scent of cedar and pine filling the shower enclosure. _Ohh..._ But this sensation is unexpected, the press of fingers over his scalp, gentle nails carding through his hair, brushing behind his ears and squeezing at the nape of his neck. He must have made some noise in his pleasure, for Jim's smug satisfaction is entirely too palpable through their physical contact. 

In the next moment, Jim's hands tip his head back into the spray, rinsing the soap from his hair and lightly rubbing it out of the tips of his ears, making Spock softly gasp. Jim's voice intrudes upon Spock's relaxed mental state there after, "Do you realize you're doing that?" 

"Doing what?" Spock asks simply, his eyes closed as Jim's hands begin to spread slick soap across his shoulders, back and arms. 

"That sound you're making?" Jim chuckles, "it's like this purring sound." 

"I am not purring." Spock denies, only causing Jim further amusement. When Jim steps around to stand in front of him, Spock takes an accommodating step backward to make room, automatically raising his hands to take hold of Jim's hips to steady him in their wet environment. 

"Lean back against the wall." Jim instructs him, rubbing a small bar of soap between his hands a few times. When Spock's shoulder blades connect with the cold tile of the shower stall, his shiver is in evidence across his arms and torso. 

When a slick hand encompasses the base of his needy flesh however, Spock forgets that he is chilled, a wave of heated desire fans flames over his body. Whether the desire is of his own or Jim's is indecipherable, but he cannot help but succumb to it when Jim leans up to place his lips over the pulse in Spock's throat, his head having tipped back unconsciously to rest against the tiles. The heat of Jim's body is palpable over the heat of the spraying water raining down on them from above and Spock holds onto him, traps Jim's body against his own and relishes the contours of his lover's form. The differences in their heights complement each other as Jim spreads his passion across every inch of pale skin he can reach, even as their lower anatomies are joined together in Jim's hand, turning their motions ragged and uncoordinated, bodies and minds inebriated with desire. 

About to give under the strain, Spock gains a clear impression from Jim, his human's mind a chaotic swirl of emotion, sensation and need plucking at the very strings of Spock's psyche. _Lovewantneedtrustlove **please**_. Without a word exchanged between them, Spock lifts a hand toward Jim's face, cradling the side of his lover's head and falling into the now familiar pattern of joining their minds. It is more difficult while distracted, but Jim's mind grows more familiar and more open to him every time they meet like this and so Spock slides into this feeling of home, of _rightness_ that swallows him up in a swell of tangled thought and emotion. Their cries of pleasure sound more like agony to their ears as they clutch at one another, desperate to give of one another and to take from each other. The mental rush toward their joined peak and subsequent release is enough to send them to their knees in the shower stall, bodies entwined and shaking like leaves against a hurricane's onslaught. 

When Spock manages to pry his eyes open an insurmountable time later, the water in the shower has gone tepid and he is sitting in an undignified heap against the corner of the stall, Jim a fallen creature of wonder lying limp and heavy against his own encumbered body. "Jim..." Spock's voice is hoarse, but when he gets no response, in fact has no response across their link, Spock immediately shakes himself out of his lethargy. " _Jim_ ," He urges, shifting his companion in his arms until he can get a look at his face, patting his fingers against Jim's cheek. _Ashayam, hear me._ He pleads across their link, the meld still lingering until Spock withdraws, throwing up what mental shields he can muster in order to get his wits about him faster. He reaches up and slaps the shower taps off, managing to get to his feet on the water slick tiles and dragging Jim up off the floor. He gets Jim into a semi-standing position, with his arm looped about his lover's waist and his other hand still desperately trying to shock some awareness into him through light slaps against his cheek. Jim startles to consciousness with a ragged gasp, wide eyes flitting around in confusion. 

"Jim!" Spock supports his partner's weight as the smaller man suddenly sags, his knees giving out. 

"Holy shit..." Jim groans, clutching at Spock hard enough to leave half-moon marks of his nails in the flesh of Spock's shoulders. "What happened?" 

"You seemed to have lost consciousness for a short period of time." Spock explains, though his emotions are at war with his tone of voice, nervous worry overlaying his calm facade. 

"Jesus, that's never happened before..." Jim pants, breathing rate elevated from shock. Spock manages to get him out of the shower, setting his mate down on the edge of the bath tub and hunting down a dry towel for him. He's just wrapping it around him when Jim seems to shake free of his stupor, blinking up at Spock. "How long...how long was I out?" 

"One minute, forty-two seconds." Spock offers, wrapping a towel around his own waist before stooping to dry Jim's legs with a third towel. 

"Oh, that's not that bad." Jim blinks. "Do you think it was just, I don't know, too much?" He asks, a weak laugh emerging past his lips, sounding a little wobbly. 

"Perhaps it would be best to take you to a hospital where they might submit you to a brain scan, assure us that there is no lasting damage from-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." Jim's hand gripping his shoulder forestalls Spock's agitated words, "I don't need a brain scan, Spock." He chuckles, but still looks a little winded, his brows lifted in surprise. "I'm fine, I just blacked out. I've blacked out a whole night before, way too much Romulan Ale." Jim grimaces. 

"You do not understand James; I could have damaged you in some manner we are unaware of. What if the mental pressure was too much for you to bear?" Spock argues; his worried brown eyes gazing up toward Jim's face from where he crouches before his lover's knees. 

"You didn't short-circuit my brain, Spock," Jim smiles, but his brows are puckered with sympathy, "stop freaking out. I'm okay. See? I can move all my limbs and speak just fine." He grins, twitching his legs and arms under their respective towels. 

Perhaps he had been overreacting; after all...Jim isn't a fragile being. Spock has seen Jim take far more damage physically and mentally than anything Spock could have just done to him. Suddenly, he feels very foolish and some of his shame must show, for Jim's fingers wrap around his wrist to keep him from withdrawing to gather up their clothes in the other room. 

"Hey wait, where are you going?" Jim frowns, "sit down." It isn't a question, but a demand and so Spock complies, sinking down to perch along the edge of the bathtub next to Jim. "What are you going to do if this happens again? It could, you know. That?" Jim motions with his chin toward the shower stall, "that was fucking amazing and out of this world, but I've no idea how prolonged moments of telepathy like that are going to affect me. Blacking out could be a normal thing for me." Jim shrugs, "but rushing me to the hospital every time we have sex isn't feasible, Spock. I'll come around just fine. Anyway, won't you know if something is wrong with me?" He taps the side of his head near his temple, "you know, up here?" 

Spock, in his panic, hadn't thought to delve past the unresponsive layer of Jim's mind to assess his well-being; he had been acting out of shock and alarm. Even with all his training, it seemed Spock still reacted like most civilians when met with a loved one in crisis; utterly foolish. 

"Hey," Jim's elbow nudges him in the side gently, "look at me." Spock turns his eyes to regard his partner, noting the color returning to Jim's features and the bright shine in his eyes again, "I'm okay. Really," Jim smiles, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to Spock's mouth. "Now get dressed, or we'll be charged for another night because of a late check out." 

Jim's first few steps are a little shaky, but he regains his confidence and swagger the further into the bedroom he walks and Spock follows a moment or two later, using his towel to dry his hair. Jim might be right this time, he seemed fine and apparently felt fully functional, but Spock couldn't help but wonder and worry about their future. If Jim was blacking out now, before they were even truly bonded, what could that mean for their mental connection later? Would Jim be able to hold up under the strain of a bond or would Spock have to constantly shield their connection? 

"Didn't someone say telepathy is like a muscle you have to exercise or you'll lose it?" Jim asks from where he stands at the end of the bed, zipping up his trousers. 

Spock sets his towel down on the mirrored platform bordering the bed and sorts out his briefs from the pile of their clothes. Arching a brow, he casts a glance over at Jim, "not in my case, James. Telepathy occurs naturally and from birth with my species." 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it's that way for everyone. Maybe the more we practice, the more used to it I'll get and that sort of thing won't happen again." Jim suggests. 

"That may be possible in theory." Spock argues. 

"Your mother was able to sustain a healthy, working bond and relationship with your father, right? What's keeping me from being able to do the same thing?" Jim asks, "Maybe you could ask your father if he has any...suggestions or tips." He grins. 

Spock hides his horror at the thought of such a conversation with his father. Asking Sarek about his bond or relationship with Spock's mother Amanda was like asking a deaf man what birdsong sounded like. The only response Spock would get from his father for broaching such a subject would be a raised brow and a polite declination to discuss the matter. The details regarding bonds were private between Vulcans, they were not discussed. 

"No?" Jim blinks, having noticed the hesitance in Spock's movements at his suggestion. "I guess that would be kind of awkward." Jim mutters, stuffing his bow-tie into his jacket pocket and leaving the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone for comfort. "'Hey Dad, how did you and Mom get along anyway, did she ever pass out when you guys would meld?'" Jim grumbles, blushing and turning away to pick up his communicator from off the nightstand. 

"He may be able to share his knowledge of telepathy and its effects on the human psyche, but I do not believe he would answer any direct question about his personal relationship with my mother." Spock murmurs. 

"Are you going to call him today?" 

"Affirmative," Spock replies, "although we may not speak until tomorrow." 

"Still no clues as to what he might want to discuss with you so urgently?" Jim asks as they gather up the last of their things and make for the door, pausing in the hallway to wait for the elevator. 

"I am more inclined to think his concern is in regards to my change in career, or over matters concerning the colony." Spock informs him as they descend to the hotel lobby, turning in their key at the front desk. Spock's appearance is the same as when they arrived, his uniform neatly donned with his hat tucked under his arm same as the night before. 

"Now that you're a Commodore, you hold a little more sway in Starfleet affairs." Jim points out as they wait for their car to be retrieved from the car-park for them. "Maybe he needs a favor?" 

"My father holds more sway in political affairs than I do, James. As an ambassador to Starfleet's oldest ally, my father would have no reason to come to me for favors pertaining to 'Fleet business." Spock deflects, Jim nodding in agreement at his side. 

"Maybe you're right, but he looked pretty perturbed for a Vulcan last night, Spock." Jim smiles sheepishly as they walk down the steps to their car the valet returning the keys to Jim's hand once again. "I kinda like this 'no parking' thing we've got going, maybe we should hire a valet for the house, Mr. Commodore, sir." He grins, sliding into the driver's seat. 

"Only if you agree to compensate the individual desperate enough to accept such a position, Lieutenant," Spock retorts, making Jim laugh as they pull out into late morning traffic. 

 

The house is quiet when they return, the garage door humming closed behind them as both Spock and Jim exit the car and climb the stairs. At the top of the steps, Jim turns with his hand on the doorknob and holds a finger up to his lips, murmuring, "They're probably all still passed out." He smirks, opening the door leading into the house and letting Spock close it quietly behind them. 

"Well howdy, lovebirds!" Nyota's voice hollers from the kitchen, making both Spock and Jim tense, Jim rolling his eyes. 

"Well shit, Nyota, wake up the whole house why don't you," He grumbles, shrugging his suit jacket off and draping it over his arm, Spock following him into their kitchen.

Nyota is seated at their breakfast table by the window. Sulu sat across from her, both of them with steaming mugs of what smells like coffee in their hands. "Well aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," Nyota grins, "I'm practicing my southern slang, I've spent too much time with Leonard these past two days." She snorts, her voice echoing in the hollow of her mug as she tips it up for a sip, steam curling about her face. 

"The place isn't a wreck and you guys don't look like hell warmed over a camp fire so...I'm assuming last night was pretty low key?" Jim says with a grin, going for a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee from the machine. 

"Low key?" Sulu sounds affronted at Jim's remark, turning in his seat to glare over his shoulder at his former captain, "I'll have you know, I did some bad-ass flips in that wind tunnel last night at _iFly_." 

"Yeah, about that," Jim turns, leaning a hand back against the edge of the counter and sipping his coffee, hissing when he scalds his tongue on the hot beverage, "way to go, having the kid call the newly appointed Commodore for permission to sky-dive. Not cool guys." Jim mock glares at Nyota, "I know it was you, Missy. You're the only one devious enough to suggest that." 

"Hey, he had fun Jim, blame me later after he gives you a glowing review of our night out." Nyota defends. "Hope you guys don't mind, but we used your washing machine to clean our uniforms, and your showers..." She smiles primly, patting the empty seat next to her for Spock to be seated. He drapes his uniform jacket over the back of the seat before pulling it out, sinking into it comfortably and receiving a knowing look from Sulu for his posture. 

Sulu waggles his brows, "That kind of a night, huh?" 

Spock arches a brow, eyes widening in an exasperated sigh and aborted eye-roll.

"Also Jimmy," Nyota smirks when Jim purses his lips at her use of his nickname, "why are you using shampoo meant for females? Trying to get those long tresses going again or something?" She giggles, teasing him.

Jim glances over at him, the beginnings of amusement twisting his face toward glee, "Uh, no actually...that's not mine." Jim bites on his lips to keep from laughing when Nyota's eyes widen and turn on Spock. 

"What? You're using that lavender scented stuff?" Nyota balks. "You weren't using that when we were dating." 

"I changed to a better formula." Spock sniffs, rising from the table as Sulu, Jim, and Nyota begin to chuckle. 

"Aw, no, I'm sorry Spock I didn't know it was yours." Nyota chuckles, patting the table's surface again, "sit down, stay a while; let us tell you guys about our night out." She grins, leaning back in her seat and setting her mug down. "I promise not to laugh at you like that again." 

Embarrassment fading, Spock controls himself once more, realizing now that since it isn't just Jim's company he is in, but multiple projecting and emoting humans, he must now draw his mental shields around himself just to function. He resolves to meditate before the day is over. Spock sits at the table once more and is both surprised and pleased when Jim brings him a steaming mug of his tea, brewed to his preferred strength. He takes the cup carefully from Jim, allowing their fingers to brush, and the contact warms Spock considerably; Jim's answering smile is sweet and private. That is, until Sulu's grinning mug shows up from behind Jim's retreating form, his smug and knowing look trained on Spock. 

"Here, look at what Hilary sent me last night," Nyota laughs, pulling out her communicator and turning the screen to show her message application to one Lieutenant Commander Caulfield. 

"Is that...a hot air balloon?" Sulu questions, as Jim looks over Spock's shoulder to see the screen as well. 

"Who's she with?" Jim asks. 

"She went out with some of her family and the whole science department," Nyota explains, sifting through a few other photos of Spock's former First Officer. She appears to be...less than one-hundred percent sober in all the photos.

"Oh my God, who's doing shots out of her belly button?" Sulu laughs, Spock looking away sharply at the inappropriate photo. 

"Ensign Fries." Nyota snorts, "he's been pining after her since we left Ardana in our third year." 

"Lucky kid," Sulu remarks, choking on a sip of his coffee when he notices both Spock and Jim's expressions, Jim looking mildly disgusted and Spock looking downright uncomfortable. 

"Christ, can ya keep it down in 'ere. Darn woke me up with all yer natterin'." Leonard grouses as he enters the kitchen from the dining room, scratching the back of his neck and trudging like one intoxicated toward the coffee machine. His uniform is clean, but apparently he had fallen back to sleep after rising for the morning. 

"Morning Bones," Jim smirks, hiding it around the rim of his mug when all Leonard does is turn and glower at him. 

"Is Joanna still asleep?" Jim asks. 

"Yeah, like a baby." Leonard sighs, shoving the nearly empty pot of coffee back onto the burner, then turning and wrapping both his hands around the mug for warmth. 

"We put David in his room last night after he fell asleep. He's been in there since five AM," Nyota adds, getting up to pour the last dregs of coffee into her mug for a top-off.

"Yeah, he called us pretty early this morning to let us know he'd gotten home." Jim sighs, leaning his hip up against the edge of the table next to Spock, only stealing Nyota's seat when it's apparent she has no intention of reclaiming it. "I think I'll let him sleep until an hour before his soccer practice." 

"And let him miss breakfast?" Nyota frowns. "I had plans to make pancakes." 

"How many hours of rest did all of you obtain?" Spock asks, curious. 

"Well, I got about three... Sulu probably got four or five; he woke me up with all his yoga...tai chi stuff out in the backyard this morning though." Nyota says with a shake of her head. "Otherwise I probably would have gotten just as much sleep as him." 

"The two Bobsey twins in there have been asleep since we got here early this mornin'," Leonard grumbles, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the living room." 

"Who, Scotty and Chekov? Scotty's been asleep since four this morning, shortly after I called it a night." Nyota interjects. 

"That kid can sleep anywhere." Leonard comments in regards to Chekov. 

"So David's been asleep," Jim checks the time on his communicator, "for about six to six and a half hours then?" 

"Yep." Nyota nods. 

"Good enough for me, he'll be going to bed early tonight anyway." Jim says with a grunt, getting up to wake his son. Spock feels inclined to follow, wanting to check up on David as well, feeling oddly about having been out of the child's company for the first time in four days. 

Jim pauses in the doorway of his son's room, holding the door partially ajar to glance in and smiles, angling his body to give Spock room to peek in too. David is passed out, oblivious to the rest of the world as he lies in a dead sprawl across his mattress with the sheets drawn up over his shoulders. They cannot see his face from this angle, but what Spock can see is two pointed ears over the hump of David's thigh under the blankets. Two wide, golden eyes peek up at them from over David's body, a startled Snowy looking both wild and nervous. She lets out a long, whining meow at them and Jim stifles a chuckle behind his fist.

"All the commotion of everyone barging into the house probably scared her half to death." He comments, looking back at Spock, whose brows are pursed in consternation.

"Does the feline always sleep on David's bed?" Spock asks. 

"Yeah, usually. Why? You can't be superstitious, Spock. Cats don’t steal a baby's breath in the night." Jim teases. 

Spock arches a brow, leaning his arm up against the doorjamb to David's bedroom, "Of course not, such a notion is highly illogical. I am simply thinking it may not be wise to allow the feline upon David's bed, in case he may roll over in his sleep and crush her." 

Jim snorts, "David? Oh hell no, that kid doesn't move when he sleeps. On the weekends, I sometimes go in there just to roll him over myself. Otherwise I'm afraid he'd get bedsores." 

Spock peers into the bedroom at the child, "Fascinating." He observes. 

David stirs, grumbling in his sleep but otherwise doesn't shift his position until Jim wanders into the room, sinking down to sit on the edge of David's bed and reaching out to gently shake his son's shoulder. "Morning David," Jim smiles, his expression widening when David groans and turns his head away, smashing it into his pillow with a grunt of denial. "Nyota was going to make pancakes; you'll miss it if you keep sleeping." 

David mutters something into his pillowcase but neither of them can make out his words. Jim shrugs up at Spock, who comes into the room to scoop Snowy up off the bed and out of possible harm’s way. 

"What was that?" Jim prods his son.

David lifts his head from his pillow with a huff and mutters, "Not hungry." 

"'Not hungry'? Well, that's a first." Jim grunts, levering himself back up onto his feet and scooting some of David's books and things out of his way with his foot. "More for us, I suppose." 

Jim motions at Spock, who follows him back out into the hall, frowning. "He must eat something this morning, Jim. I see no reason why we should let him sleep when he has gotten an adequate six hours." 

"He's at the age where six hours isn't really enough. Besides, he's lying; he's probably starving but doesn't want to get out of bed quite yet. Give him a few minutes and the zombie will shamble his way out here." Jim closes David's bedroom door and glances at Snowy bundled under Spock's arm, the cat looking with wild eyes toward the kitchen where a handful of voices are filtering out from. "Maybe we should shut her upstairs for a bit, put her breakfast in our bathroom.

"Perhaps she will get used to their presence if we allow her to roam." Spock theorizes and sets Snowy down. The cat cowers between them for a few steps down the hall, slinking low to the ground, so low her belly drags on the floor as she peers toward the entrance to the living room where Chekov is still steadily snoring. 

"I don't know, Spock. She might claw someone." Jim mutters, but sidesteps the feline to slip into the kitchen. In the end, Spock decides to put her in their office, closing the door after setting down a bowl of the cat's morning meal. 

Jim and Nyota talk in the kitchen while making pancakes in two pans on the stove. Leonard turns on the holo screen to wake Chekov, Scotty, Keenser and Joanna thirty minutes before they're due to eat, only to find that apparently, Chekov, Scotty, and Joanna can all sleep through the noise of the holo screen, even when Leonard raises the volume to a decibel Spock is uncomfortable hearing from the kitchen. 

"Leonard, give it up!" Nyota shouts back to the Doctor through the dining room, "you'll just have to wake them up the old fashioned way." 

"Do ya have a dinner bell, sweet heart? Because I'm out of ideas. Pots and pans?" Leonard scoffs from the entryway of the kitchen. David emerges from his room in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and his hair a wild mess from sleeping on the gel.

"Why's the holo screen so loud?" David grumbles, frowning over at Leonard. 

"Tryin' to wake up the rest of our troupe. Want to join me in a loud and raucous rendition of 'All My Exes Live in Texas'?" Leonard asks with a smug smile. 

"No thanks." David grumbles, slumping over on a bar-stool at the breakfast bar, his cheek pressed to the marble counter top. 

Spock gets up to warm his tea in the microwave and over Nyota and Jim's chatter, he can hear the Doctor begin his second attempt at waking their friends by singing in a thick drawl, "'All my ex's live in Texas, and Texas is the place I'd dearly love to be'!" Spock winces, because Leonard isn't sparing Chekov and Scotty the twang of his singing voice, "'But all my ex's live in Texas, and that's why I hang my hat in Tennessee'!" 

"An interesting comparison Doctor," Spock remarks from the entryway of the living room, his now steaming mug of tea in hand, "that you would wish to reside in Texas but refrain, just to forego a terrible reunion with your many past lovers. Perhaps you were too fickle to date only Texan women, Doctor." 

Leonard rolls his eyes, "It's just a song, Spock, and everyone knows exes are crazy anyway." He gripes. 

Arching a brow, Spock sets his tea down on the dining room table behind him, moving into the living room where the remaining members of their party are still unconscious and sprawled over the furniture asleep. He picks up his Vulcan lyre and watches Leonard's expression change to one of protest as he begins to strum a few of the strings. The sound may seem soothing to Spock, but he had been told on numerous occasions when playing the instrument in the rec room on the _Enterprise_ that the sound was considered haunting; creepy and sad to human ears. So Spock plays the first bars of a song he knows by memory and watches annoyed eyes open around him, disturbed from sleep. 

Leonard looks like he might argue, but he is too dumbfounded to do much but stare as Scotty grumbles and gets to his feet, muttering, "Aye was awake before ye started in with tha, Mr. Spock. Ach!" Scotty disappears down the hall in the direction of the bathroom and Spock sets his lyre aside on its stand once again, Joanna rubbing her eyes on the sofa and Chekov blinking in disorientation at the other end of the sofa. 

"Rise 'n shine, buttercups," Leonard sighs, "leave it to a Vulcan to one-up ya in bein' noisy. C'mon, we're about ready to eat some breakfast." 

They all sit down in the kitchen or in the dining room to eat, smearing either peanut butter or syrup over their pancakes or in Spock’s case, cut fruit. Both David and Joanna become more lively once they have food in their stomachs and they tell both Jim and Spock about their adventures of the night before, including David's tentacle infested meal. Jim ends up calling a LYFT for his friends to take them back to their various homes or hotels to get some more sleep and generally to recover from their all-night celebration, promising them that they will all be invited to David's birthday party next weekend. 

By the time everyone has left, it is after one in the afternoon and Jim is busy folding sheets and collecting pillows from the living room when Spock emerges from their bedroom upstairs in fresh clothes. He has dressed in one of his Vulcan robes, a short black tunic with long, wide sleeves and a pair of black pants and boots. Jim looks up at him when he enters the kitchen to look for his communicator, finding it resting on its charging dock, apparently placed there by his partner. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you in that," Jim remarks, motioning toward Spock's attire as he folds another sheet, setting it aside and joining Spock in the kitchen. Turning, Spock reaches up and adjusts the tight folds of his collar, assured they are straight. 

"The robe was a gift to me from my clan mother, T'Pau." Spock responds, looking down at his mate when Jim reaches out to lightly finger the embroidered stitches down one side of the tunic. "That is the inscription for my clan." 

"How do you say it?" Jim blinks, "I think you told me once what your last name is, back on the _Enterprise_ , but I don't think I could ever repeat it." He chuckles, "kind of puts a damper on the whole 'taking your name' kind of thing. Suppose I'll remain a 'Kirk'." 

"Unless you were trained in speaking high Vulcan from a very young age, you would have trouble saying my surname." Spock agrees, "I am S'chn T'gai, Spock. S'chn T'gai is my clan name." He explains, watching Jim's eyes narrow critically as he tries to form the sounds on his tongue. 

"You know, you should really teach me Vulcan someday." Jim grins. 

"If you are willing, I would enjoy the opportunity to teach you my native tongue." 

Jim snorts, "I think you've taught me enough about that native tongue of yours." He smirks. 

It takes Spock a moment longer than necessary to realize that Jim's smug smile is due to his odd innuendo, turning Spock's words back on him in an inappropriate manner. It makes Spock's brown eyes darken, creasing at the corners in an admission of a smile that doesn't quite reach his lips. "You judge your level of knowledge too soon, Ashayam." He murmurs, withdrawing his father's digital card from his pocket. He hadn't tried to contact his father for a few years now, so it doesn't surprise him that his contact information had changed in that time. 

Jim heads off down the hall with his stacks of sheets and pillows toward the linen closet, a smirk still on his face, "Tell the Ambassador 'hello' for me." He tosses back over his shoulder, his steps fading. 

Spock listens for the transmission to reach his father, wherever he might be in the city, and when the call finally connects, his father's voice comes through from the other end of the line in a stiff greeting, "Spock." 

"Father, I did not give you this device's number, how did you ascertain that it was I?" Spock frowns. 

"I spoke with your yeoman, a Ms. Rand, who forwarded this number to me. Are you available to meet?" Sarek's voice is steady, devoid of emotion in a manner Spock cannot say he is entirely used to anymore. Being around James and David, as well as their friends for this long has left lasting impressions on Spock, and he cannot decide if this realization alarms him, or holds no importance for him. 

"Affirmative. You may pick the venue." Spock replies. 

"My Ambassadorial offices at 1600 hours, is this agreeable to you?" 

"Affirmative." Spock says. 

"And Spock," Sarek continues, throwing Spock for a small loop at the sudden caution in his father's tone, "come alone." 

"Very well." Spock murmurs, confusion knotting in his stomach. Why would Sarek not wish James or anyone else to be in attendance for their discussion? Granted, he hadn't planned on taking Jim with him, but now he grows concerned, even as he endeavors to push down the emotion. It holds no place in his mind without facts. 

It takes Spock fifteen full seconds to realize that his father has already ended the transmission and he slowly pockets his communicator, staring out the kitchen window over the sink. He has a little over two hours to spend in meditation, so he crosses the room and enters the hall, passing Jim on his way to the office. "Will you be around for dinner?" 

"I will not." Spock says, holding back a sigh. 

"Well, David has soccer practice at six-thirty. If you'd rather, you can just meet us there, if you can make it." Jim offers. 

"I will endeavor to do so. Please pass my apologies on to David that I may miss a portion of his practice this evening, should my meeting run late." 

"He'll understand." Jim murmurs, a small smile flickering at the corners of his soft mouth, just before he leans up and places a tender kiss on Spock's lips, effectively dispelling the dark emotions swirling inside Spock's mind and lending him a modicum of calm. Spock's eyes flutter closed, savoring the moment before turning away to enter their office and light his incense, unrolling his meditation mat before the window as the afternoon sun sneaks past the trees and filters into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any readers who do not feel comfortable commenting on a public forum, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	8. Deeper Waters Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow Spock to the Vulcan Embassy where he attends a meeting with his father, Ambassador Sarek, finding out a little more about Professor T'Mal and her role in Starfleet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Happy Valentine's Day!! I hope you got yourself some chocolates, or spent a wonderful time with your loved ones today. I'm a firm believer in celebrating yourself if you're single, after all, we all deserve a 'me' day. If you're reading this fic today, I'm honored to be a part of your 'me' day! =D 
> 
> As always, I would like to thank my beta reader [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate), she was especially indispensable to me while writing this chapter, she helped me get through a lot of rough patches at the beginning. Another thank you is in order to [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/pseuds/MissBAMF) as well, for looking over the rough draft to this chapter and helping me smooth out some edges and oddities. Thanks guys! 
> 
> This chapter's theme [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QB0ordd2nOI&list=WL&index=37) is entitled _To Build A Home_ by **The Cinematic Orchestra**. I love this song and it resonates with me so much while I write the relationship between Jim and Spock growing. I hope you enjoy it if you choose to listen to it today, for it is very sweet and the piano in it is lovely. 
> 
> As always, do please let me know what you think of this chapter and let me know if you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you guys have a good rest of your week and I'll see you back here again next Sunday!

**Professor Solen T'Mihn, T'Mal**

Fan-art by ChemicalOrgasm

Squinting up through the glare of sunlight reflected off the glass buildings, Spock stands amidst a flurry of movement amongst the city sidewalks, a solitary form standing still in the chaotic mass of people whose thoughts and emotions swirl around him. His garb only makes him feel more alien and detached from the primarily human figures darting past, shoulders brushing by him, never touching. 

It had taken many months for Spock to grow accustomed to how the people in a human city moved and how to weave one's way through crowds without touching a single individual. He had always been determined and single-minded, always knowing his destination and never wandering aimlessly. Now he is filled with uncertainty and confusion as the rush of people move past him like a wave around a rocky reef. His mind is carefully withdrawn and protected from the endless chatter and noise.

He is less than fifty paces from the Vulcan embassy, his path before him known, and yet unknown. The last time he had visited this place was after the destruction of Vulcan, to bring his father and other refugees from the planet's surface here to rest in safety while the Federation decided their next move. 

His memory of that time is tinged with rampant emotions. He’d experienced guilt and anguish over a planet lost, people destroyed. He’d felt them the most when facing his mother's continued absence from the sparse group of Vulcans that had arrived in San Francisco, the first wave of survivors.

The emotions of the past threaten to overwhelm him now, but Spock forces his mind back to the matter at hand, stealing their power from them. He blocks them out with a minute shake of his head, eyes focusing on the path he must take ahead of him. Sarek had made no effort to contact him since their last meeting, an action that Spock still does not quite understand, and yet cannot fault for being out of his father's character. 

In the years following Spock's decision to forego admission to the Vulcan Science Academy, his father had made his opinions clear on the matter, but when it had been evident his opinions would not sway his son he had cut all mental and physical ties with Spock. True, the familial bond they shared was present, but the access was restricted. His father had shut him out on all levels of contact. At the time, it had been painful, but now, Spock felt numb to it. 

With deliberate steps Spock weaves his way out of the throng of people traversing the sidewalk outside the Vulcan Embassy, shouldering past a father and his daughter, the child tightly holding onto her parent's hand with wide eyes and questioning lips. "Where are we going Daddy?" she inquires.

"Dad's got to turn in a work report and then we'll go get ice cream, sound alright?" The father replies, reminding Spock of two individuals back at home, one currently asleep before his soccer practice, the other left working on his project in their home office.

Spock reminds himself that he had made his choices, he is content with his decisions. Rather than continuing to seek his father's approval, Spock has learned to rely on his own council, and takes solace in the only mind left open to him, finding its presence calming and soothing. _Jim…_

Whatever Spock’s father wishes to speak with him about today will not change his stance. Nothing Sarek can say will change Spock's mind about the logic of his decision, to pair himself with a human he finds dear and a child he cherishes is what Spock wishes. 

With determined illogical pride in Spock's steps, he takes to the stone stairs outside the Vulcan Embassy, slipping his identification card out of his inner tunic pocket to be scanned by the digital reader outside the guard post at the entrance of the building. He gains clearance, a uniformed guard giving him a nod to proceed past the glass doors.

The Vulcan Embassy is nothing like the ancient buildings of home. It is a building constructed for logical purposes, with sterile white and grey walls, subtle lighting, sparse decorations, and one entire side of the building constructed of reinforced glass windows that let in San Francisco's early evening sunlight. 

At this time of the day the embassy is quiet as people retire for the evening. However, secretaries still wander the halls with message chips in their hands, eyes glued to their slates. The mix of species seem subdued, most being human, a few Vulcan individuals here on business, bundled in warm attire similar to Spock's own. They do not meet his eyes or even acknowledge him. They keep to themselves, preparing to enter the chaos of the city as they return to their respective dwellings.

His father's offices are located on the third floor of the building. But rather than take the turbolift Spock opts for the solid metal staircase, casting his eyes out of the solid panes of glass to his right as he ascends, his vantage point changing the higher up he goes.

Spock sees several doors on the third floor of the embassy, each clearly labeled with the names of political figures of Vulcan. The sleeves of his tunic brush idly at his legs as he walks, hands loosely folded before him, features neatly arranged to depict calm detachment. Spock considers, in the back of his mind, his decision not to arrive in uniform a sound one. Better to present himself demonstrating acceptance and respect for the Vulcan culture than to arrive antagonizing Sarek with what his father would no doubt disapprove of.

Slipping a finger past the collar of his tunic, he loosens the material a little as he experiences a strange sensation which falsely suggests the garment is strangling him. It must be his nerves trying to assail him again and Spock purses his lips and crosses the hall toward the closed door of Ambassador Sarek's office. When he enters, a male Vulcan lifts his head from his work behind a small desk, the glow from his terminal screen illuminating his features. "May I be of assistance, sir?" The Vulcan inquires and Spock pauses to acknowledge his father's assistant. 

"I have an appointment." Spock announces, not surprised that this man doesn't recognize him, considering the infrequency with which he visits his father here. 

"He is expecting you." The Vulcan nods, reaching forward to depress a button on the communications console to his right, alerting the Ambassador of his visitor. 

Spock enters the room with his chin up, eyes elevated, telling himself he is ready for whatever it is Sarek wishes to discuss with him. In a small way, he misses the presence of another, his mind supplying the echo of a memory of when Spock had been young and entering his father's home office back on Vulcan, his mother lingering near the door and resting her hand on his shoulder. 

_'Don't worry Spock...speak to your father.'_

The echo of her voice in his mind almost makes Spock wince, but he conceals his pain, though he is sure it must be visible in his eyes, existing only to shame him. His mother's image fades from his mind's eye, her words inapplicable to this situation, for his father is not looking at him in the same manner. Rather, when Sarek lifts his head from the data PADD resting in his hands, icy disapproval is not evident in his eyes as it had been in that distant memory. The door clicks shut behind Spock, cocooning the two of them in a layer of silence Spock has not been accustomed to experiencing these past three years. It is so quiet he can hear the swift drum of his own heartbeat. 

"Spock." Sarek greets, placing his PADD off to the side of his desk and rising from his seat, fingers braced a top its glass surface. 

"Father," Spock greets in return, inclining his head a fraction, though his rebellious eyes flick away, undermining his respect with his true feelings. Confusion, caution, and indifference. The familial bond between them remains silent still, even in this close proximity. 

"I believe congratulations are in order," Sarek says, though Spock imagines he hears a sigh concealed in those words; weariness of an argument long past. 

"Thank you, Father." Spock replies, though whether he means the gratitude he expresses or not is unclear to him, his words pale and without inflection. 

"I must say, I was...surprised to hear you were stepping down from your captaincy of the _Enterprise_ , although I concur with your logic regarding the matter." Sarek continues, causing a knife of bitterness to twist in Spock's guts. 

Of course his father would see his decision to step down as logical; he had asked Spock to do as much the last time they had spoken. Sarek had urged Spock to resign Starfleet altogether, arguing that it was Spock's duty to return to the new colony in order to help rebuild their home; to organize new political and economic structures under Sarek's instruction. But Spock had not seen any value in doing so and had expressed as much to his father in their last transmission, arguing that he could do far more by remaining in Starfleet. He had proven that usefulness during the first year of his voyage as the _Enterprise_ helped deliver various goods and resources to the new colony under construction before shooting out into the black of space once more.

However, it seemed Sarek still disagreed with his decision to remain in Starfleet, a matter which Spock had long ago ceased to be surprised about. It seemed that no matter his actions, Spock would never gain approval from Sarek. "You asked to discuss a delicate matter with me. I have come and wish to proceed. What is it you considered important enough to speak with me about _here_?" Spock inquires, ignoring his father's comment. He wanted to 'get on with it', as Jim would have aptly stated if he were here.

Sarek takes a moment to judge his son and lifts his hand after a moment, indicating one of the chairs sitting opposite his desk. "Have a seat and we shall begin." He invites. 

"I must respectfully decline, for I have other matters I must attend to once this conversation has concluded." Spock retorts, sliding his hands behind his back. He had no reason to want to linger here, not if this whole conversation was going to be a repeat of other arguments of the past. Sarek had burned his bridges with his son long ago, and Spock was not going to place himself in a vulnerable position to experience that pain again.

"You prefer to stand near the door like a stranger?" Sarek asks, the slant of his brows angling to a severe degree, a line of annoyance cutting like a trench down the center of his forehead. 

Spock arches a brow at his father's inquiry, tilting his head in agreement, "We have not spoken for three years, eleven months, fifteen days, Father. Does that not suggest our level of acquaintance as something akin to strangers?" 

Sarek's lips thin in a subtle display of the displeasure Spock assumes he must be experiencing, though it is controlled. It seemed Spock still held an illogical desire to antagonize his father, a tendency that had always confused him and which he now wearily accepts as a function of their dynamic. 

"I have not asked you here to engage in arguments or to illogically provoke you; I wished to discuss a matter of professional business. I have some...concerns to speak with you about." Sarek alludes, picking up his data PADD and tapping at its screen a few times. He rounds his desk and approaches Spock only to hold the PADD out for him to take a moment later. Spock obliges with a growing sense of consternation. Professional business? What could Sarek wish to involve him in regarding political business? 

The image appearing on Ambassador Sarek's PADD is of a female Vulcan, her long hair drawn back in a severe style preferred by the females of their race. The shot is taken of her unaware, her face half turned in profile and her gaze directed at someone not view-able in the image. "That is Professor Solen T'Mihn, T'Mal." Sarek explains, his voice sliding into the accent of their Vulcan dialect and catching Spock momentarily off guard. 

"Professor T'Mal." Spock blinks, looking down at the picture. 

"You know of her?" Sarek questions. 

"I know of her, but have not met her." Should he confide in his father of how he had come to know of her? Perhaps James should not have even told him if the project was considered classified. 

"Her clan has been concerned for her in these past months after she left our colony in some distress six solar months ago." Sarek explains, taking his PADD back from Spock's outstretched hand. 

"What interest do you have in her?" Spock frowns, because his Father did not often concern himself with the affairs of scientific research here on Earth. 

"My interest is purely out of concern for her well-being," Sarek explains as he turns to set the PADD back down on his desk, presenting his son with his back. "She has suffered a great loss, as we all have, and I must consider the logic of her choice regarding her departure from our colony. Spock," Sarek turns, his Vulcan robe whispering with the movement, "You must tell me what you know of her. She could be a danger to Earth." 

Spock feels a frisson of worry at his father's words, for if Jim is working for a possibly dangerous woman, he would have to encourage Jim to quit a project he was most passionate about. The images of those blueprints spread out across Jim's desk flash before Spock's eyes as he considers what he knows. "What kind of threat does she pose, Father?" 

"Federation security, quite possibly. When she left the colony, she took with her a number of scientific designs, and other individuals left with her. Her mental faculties in the days leading up to her departure were not...sound. She suffers a common ailment." 

Common ailment? Spock's frown deepens and he steps closer to his father, bringing a hand up to rest along the back of one attending chair. "She is affected by grief." Spock guesses, and when Sarek's eyes shift in order to regard an area across the room, Spock knows he has guessed correctly. "She suffers a broken bond?" 

"Her bondmate was present on Vulcan during its destruction. She was aboard the _Ni'Var_ as acting Chief Science Officer, the second year of her commission. She has since then been under the care of our surviving Vulcan mind healers, but her condition had improved only marginally." 

It was a wonder she survived at all, and when Spock considers the emotional distress of such a severed link he can only imagine the turmoil her mind may be experiencing. Sarek had visited with a mind healer as well after the destruction of Vulcan, but the severed bond with his wife, Spock's mother, had not been as destructive for him. In a way, Sarek's determination to rebuild their home had been his salvation; it had kept his mind from sinking too low into a state of emotional distress. 

Spock had not been privy to his father's condition, but if the frequency of his meditation indicated anything about his state while aboard the _Enterprise_ , Spock could deduce that his father had been in some great emotional pain. The brief confrontation he and Sarek had had after Spock had handed over control of the ship to Jim spoke a great deal about Sarek's past instability, his admission to loving Amanda and the expression of his pain at her loss. That singular moment had been the most emotional Spock had ever seen his father. 

"There is some concern regarding her plans for a certain project here on Earth." Sarek interrupts Spock's musings and memories, "though I am not granted clearance to learn of this project. Your superior, Admiral Komack, has denied me any information regarding the privately funded project, but assures me of its sound nature. Can you too, attest to T'Mal's plans? Is her research purely scientific and beneficial to the Federation?" 

Spock glances away, because of what little he had seen of Jim's drawings regarding the project he cannot entirely promise his father that he has seen nothing that would justify worry. In fact, with Jim's blue prints in his memory, he has to admit that they look strangely...sinister. Like weaponry. "Unknown." Spock finally answers, causing Sarek's shoulders to lower, his dark eyes flat and hard. 

"I was...hoping that you would be able to shed some light on the matter or that at your higher level of command you might be granted clearance to view T'Mal's project plans." Sarek murmurs, his voice distant, as if his mind is occupied by some other thought on the matter entirely. 

"What is the name of her project, so that I might make inquiries?" Spock asks. 

Sarek shakes his head, "I know very little, Vulcan has largely been kept in the dark regarding this matter and T'Mal will not permit anyone not approved by Starfleet or by her personnel to visit the compound where she works." 

Spock frowns, "If I am to make inquiries, I need to be apprised of the knowledge you and the council have regarding the Professor." 

"The proposal which she attempted to convince the council to endorse during her last days at the colony was entitled... Genesis," Sarek remarks, his brows lifting bleakly. 

"She sought funding from the council before coming to Earth?" 

"Indeed. Her descriptions of the project though were vague, unscientific and somewhat manic. We grew wary of her in her last days with us and had intended to detain her for further healing. We were concerned she had fallen from our way." Sarek explains. "She spoke of rebuilding a planet to be just like Vulcan and of vengeance and dark things only our ancestors would have considered logical. She was deeply disturbed, but the Admiral assures me she is of sound mind, or at least she has been when speaking with him." Sarek steeples his fingers before him and turns away to regard the bank of windows behind his desk. 

"You believe she may be deceiving them?" Spock inquires; his level of worry increasing. If she is putting up a front in order to push her project to completion, she could be in dangerous error and the Genesis Project could result in terrible repercussions for not only her, but for the Federation as well. But Spock knows very little and Sarek knows even less than he it would seem. 

"Why not detain her now? Submit her to questioning? Do you not hold that right as an Ambassador should she pose a threat?" Spock purses his lips, confused. 

"She remains protected by Starfleet, neither I nor my people are allowed near her, by her request. I believe she has given some illogical and untrue story to your Admiralty regarding her treatment within the colony. Admiral Komack has asked me to cease and desist." Sarek lets out a small sigh, shocking Spock. "I grow weary of being ignored; if there is anything you might be able to accomplish regarding this matter, I and the council would be appreciative." 

"I am uncertain as to how successful I might be, but I will attend to the matter to the best of my abilities, Father," Spock promises. He is somewhat surprised that he is even being asked but knows that his status as Commodore could be his father's last ditch effort to gain some insight into Professor T'Mal.

"Your friend, James Kirk, he is employed by the Professor, is he not?" Sarek queries causing a hard stone of dread to fall to the pit of Spock's stomach. 

"Indeed, he is." Spock nods somberly, and his sense of disturbance must be showing in his eyes, for Sarek's severe expression softens a fraction. 

"I would suggest he remove himself from her employ, but he may be of a beneficial use to us if the matter is revealed to him." Sarek suggests. 

Spock shakes his head, "he is under oath not to discuss the project, what little he has shown to me reveals nothing of her work, Father. Jim is involved in a highly classified endeavor." _And I fear for him_ , Spock thinks to himself as he straightens, sliding his hand from the back of the chair before him. 

"Then I suggest you proceed with caution, my son." Sarek murmurs, surprising Spock once more with the address, a tiny and very young part of him aching to hear it. "If James Kirk is your friend, as you state, I suggest you reveal these concerns to him. He would do better to be cautious of Professor T'Mal and her intentions." 

Spock swallows, a part of him wanting to do just that, the sooner the better. But there is one more thing he must discuss with his father before taking his leave, "He is my friend...and he is to be my betrothed." 

Sarek doesn't move for a moment, and if Spock had thought Sarek's expression to be softened before, it seems lost now. Dark eyes slide away in shock, but no words are forthcoming. Licking his lips, Spock seeks to explain further, "James and I have entered into an intimate relationship and he is to be my bondmate." 

"You have...discussed these proceedings with him?" Sarek finally asks, his words level but hesitant. 

"I have." Spock tenses, bracing for what he has grown accustomed to from his father; disapproval and ice. 

"He accepts?" Sarek asks further. 

Spock inclines his head in a slow nod, "he is considering my offer seriously." 

Sarek slowly walks forward, approaching his son, studying Spock's face intently until the younger Vulcan experiences discomfort at the close scrutiny. "He is...important to you?" 

Knowing Sarek's words to be carefully constructed, Spock cannot help but read deeper meaning behind them, _'You cherish one another?'_. Spock nods once more, "He is important. Both he and David ." 

"Ah yes, the child." Sarek murmurs, seeming at a loss with how to proceed. Distantly, Spock wonders if Sarek had always been living under the impression that Spock would never find a mate, considering T'Pring's rejection of him before the destruction of Vulcan. 

"I would...ask your approval of our match at a later date." Spock continues, somewhat ashamed that he finds it in himself to long for that approval still, even if he would not be surprised to find Sarek's rejection in this matter. 

"Yes...of course," Sarek nods, still distant and making Spock wonder if he is experiencing memories of his own, memories of his departed wife; Spock's mother. "Should he accept, you must journey to the colony, discuss this matter with High Clan Mother T'Pau." 

Spock's grandmother, one of the survivors of the destruction of Vulcan, had subtly been pushing Spock to find a mate for ages now. How would she react once finding out Spock had chosen one, and a human male at that? The matter will require some...meditation. "Affirmative," Spock nods, lifting his hand in the ta'al in farewell, "I shall look into the matter of Professor T'Mal and keep you apprised of any new information. Live long and prosper, Father." 

Sarek seems to shake himself, his eyes closing for the briefest of moments before Spock witnesses the shutters closing over his Father's face, drawing himself into his detachment like a well -worn cloak. "Live long and prosper, my son." Sarek murmurs, returning the gesture with his right hand. 

When Spock emerges from the office, he takes a deep breath, a feeling of oppression falling away from his shoulders. Speaking with his father had always been a difficult thing, restrained and slow. If Jim were here, he would have called it 'like pulling teeth', and for once, Spock can agree with the metaphor. However, Sarek had not argued with him regarding his choice in James, nor had he seemed disgusted or disapproving. Shocked, yes...but perhaps that shock would evolve into acceptance someday. 

Spock's communicator chirps in his inner pocket when he steps out into the city streets again and he finds a quiet place in a glass-enclosed bus-stop to answer the transmission. "Spock here?" 

"Hey Spock, I don't know if you're done with your meeting yet, but David and I are on our way to practice. You coming or should I tell David you can't make it?" Jim's voice soothes a part of Spock that feels abraded, the result of conversing with Sarek over delicate matters. But it also causes his earlier worry to reassert itself; Jim could be working for a potentially unstable woman. The glaring dynamic is startling; relief and affection at hearing from Jim after a difficult conversation, but fear and worry over what might lie ahead in the coming weeks as Spock endeavors to delve into the Professor's background and work history, should it be allowed to him, that is. 

"I have concluded our meeting. I shall meet the both of you at David's school." Spock clarifies. 

"Okay, great," Jim replies, "gotta go, see you in a bit." The transmission ends and Spock places his communicator back into his pocket, glancing up when a public transport slides up along the edge of the curb, doors opening in an invitation for him to board as he slips his credit chip out of his pocket and slides it through the reader for payment. 

Spock walks the short distance from the bus-stop to David's school in what looks like the beginnings of bad weather; the fading sun is blocked out by harrowing clouds, harbingers of rain. The wind is already rising, causing Spock to consider turning back and simply returning to their dwelling and perhaps locating a heavy coat or changing out of these clothes entirely. Normally he is warm enough with thermal layers on beneath his Vulcan desert clothes, but they are not made to withstand a down pour. 

"Spock!" Jim's voice snaps Spock out of his grim considerations and he raises his head, noting his partner lingering on the other side of the school's gate, brandishing his pass card to allow Spock into the compound. 

"They're just getting started." Jim smiles, letting the iron gate swing shut behind Spock and reaching out to lay a hand against his lover's arm, his bright expression already chasing away a portion of Spock's fears. It is good to be in the presence of his lover again, to be shown the acceptance readily given and sense the affection behind Jim's actions. This realization makes Spock consider how he had survived three long years of separation from this man, given that it seems he is reluctant to be apart from him for even a few hours now. 

"How did your meeting with the Ambassador go?" Jim asks warily as they turn and walk past the school's main building, the wind sweeping Jim's hair back and sending a chill through Spock's frame. 

"It was...enlightening." Spock decides, folding his arms over his chest to keep his hands warm. 

"So he didn't chew your ass out or anything?" Jim asks a sparkle of amusement in his blue eyes.

Spock regards his lover curiously, arching a brow, "My Father would not 'chew my ass', as you have so put it."

Jim laughs, "I know, I just wanted to hear you say the word 'ass'." He smirks, clapping a hand down on the back of Spock's shoulder and pointing loosely toward a grassy field, indicating their direction of travel. Some twenty or so children run about, passing a white and black checkered ball between them in what seems to be a sport involving keeping the ball from opposing team mates and scoring a point on them by kicking said ball into a wide net protected by one team member. 

"I have some chairs set up over there for us." Jim motions toward a pair of cloth sling seats more appropriate for camp outs, an umbrella folded up on the ground between them. It seems Jim came adequately prepared for the weather, but perhaps Spock should have asked him to bring his winter coat. 

"I have notified my Father about our relationship." Spock remarks as they sit down, causing Jim's eyes to dart toward him in obvious surprise, a light flush coloring his cheeks which Spock cannot attribute to the cold alone. 

"What did he say?" Jim blinks. 

"He expressed his understanding and advised us to seek counsel with my clan mother." Spock replies, folding his hands loosely together in his lap with his elbows resting over the cloth slings of the chair meant to be armrests.

"That's it?" Jim asks and when Spock turns to regard him, finds that his words must be lacking what his lover had expected. Jim's expression is bland. "No 'you have my blessing' or anything like that?" 

"Not at this time, no." Spock admits, feeling somewhat sheepish when he says, "I believe I shocked my Father into silence on the matter." 

"No way." Jim smirks, "we shocked the ever stoic Ambassador Sarek?" 

"It would appear so." Spock purses his lips, because that shock could melt into indifference or disapproval at any time. Perhaps Sarek would speak with Spock's grandmother T'Pau and convince her that the union is ill-matched. If that were to happen he would be exiled from his clan should he continue with the union; his name struck from the clan's records should he go against his grandmother's approval. He considers telling James of this but he does not wish to influence his partner's decision regarding their future together. Jim might refuse simply to keep Spock from being exiled by his people. It would not be out of character for him. 

"Oh, shoot..." Jim mutters, glancing up at the sky, the dark clouds having blown in and grown even darker. Bending down, he picks up the umbrella off the ground and opens it over their heads, scooting his chair closer to Spock’s and leaning in to huddle closer in order to keep them both covered as droplets of water begin to fall. "David is number seventeen." Jim points out, directing Spock's gaze toward the child running across the field, fighting for control of the ball with another child on the team. "He was really glad you were coming, you know. Told me to make sure you watched him score a goal. He hasn't made one yet, but he's been fired up since he put his cleats on." 

Spock watches David scamper across the grass, stealing the soccer ball from another child and darting away with it, running down the length of the field with other children giving chase as their coach shouts from further down the sidelines. Glancing around, Spock notices other clusters of adults, all talking to one another, some not even watching their children play. It seems this is a customary sporting event. "I would not have wanted to miss David's practice. I am gratified my meeting with my Father did not take up the entirety of my evening." Although it could have if Spock had tried pressing his father for more information regarding T'Mal. Surely Sarek knew something he wasn't letting on; something unsettling enough to stir his fears regarding the Genesis Project. 

"He's going to be starving after this though; he slept the remainder of the day away and wouldn't get up for a snack. I let him sleep until about ten minutes before we had to leave." Jim says, resting the end of the umbrella in the mesh circle of his seat's cup holder to distribute some of the weight, his fingers loosely curled about the rod of the handle. "So what else did you and the Ambassador talk about?" 

Spock is conflicted as he considers how to answer Jim, knowing that he ought to tell his partner about his concerns regarding T'Mal, but also knows that this really was not the place or time to do so. There aren't any people within earshot of them, but Spock doesn't feel comfortable bringing up this delicate subject in the event that James might become agitated or worried as well. Jim would lose his interest in watching David play, and, if the child's constant glances in their direction proved anything, it was that he was craving their attention and approval of his skills this evening. 

"We discussed a matter of business; one of our people he has grown concerned about. He has asked me to investigate the matter. Given my rank in Starfleet, I have some resources at my disposal that he does not have." Spock explains, glancing sideways at Jim to notice his partner staring at him, studying him in fact. 

"He can't just speak with this Vulcan?" Jim asks, frowning. 

"Not at present, no," Spock admits, feeling guilty for evading his lover's questions. But now is not the time for these discussions; now is the time to acknowledge David's hard work and energy. Spock nods at the child as he runs past, beaming and soaking wet from being out in the rain. "Will David not grow ill from being out in this weather?" 

"Hm?" Jim blinks, turning his gaze back out onto the field, "oh, no he'll be fine. I've got a towel for him in the car and we'll crank the heat up on the way back home. It's only a light drizzle, Spock. If it had been really raining, practice would have been cancelled." 

Jim looks as if he is about to open up the topic of Spock's meeting with Sarek again, but before he can get a word out, Spock shivers violently, his teeth clenched tightly shut. "I should have brought a blanket for you or something." Jim winces, handing the minding of the umbrella off to Spock and leaning forward, shrugging his leather jacket off. "Here, wear this." Spock opens his mouth to refuse, for surely Jim needs the jacket just as much as he, but Jim cuts him off, "I'll be fine, just put it on. We've only got another forty-five minutes before David is done with practice and we can jet." 

He accepts the jacket after a moment, casting Jim a rueful glance before shrugging it on, the long sleeves of his tunic making it somewhat awkward and cumbersome to don. However, it is already warmed by Jim's body and he finds himself wrapped in that comforting heat and in the scent of his partner, helping to quell his urge to shiver from the cold. "Thank you, James." Spock murmurs, zipping the jacket up and leaning back in his seat again. 

Together, they watch David tear about the field, throwing all his energy into the sport and casting furtive glances their way every time he passes or receives the ball to be certain they are watching him. The evident need for their approval strikes a chord in Spock, which only serves to assure him that he and David are not so dissimilar. Just as Spock had struggled for years during his youth to gain the approval of his peers and his father, so does David seem to strive for that same validation. So when David runs by them, grinning and waving, Spock lifts his hand in a Terran greeting as well, making David's smile widen with a pleasure Spock can practically feel across the distance between them on the field. 

"He's really pouring it on thick tonight." Jim says, chuckling. 

"I do not understand?" Spock inquires, shifting his legs to fold one over the other comfortably.

"Well, this is something he feels especially good at, he enjoys soccer a lot." Jim illustrates, "it's also an outlet for all his endless energy, and one of the few things people can't bully him about. See that kid?" Jim lifts his chin in the direction of a child somewhat taller than the rest, his hair shorn rather short and colored a vibrant red color. "That kid picks on a lot of his classmates, or so I'm told by one of David's friends' mothers. But on the field, if that kid picks on someone, the coach benches him. So they all play like a team at least." 

"Fascinating." Spock murmurs, his brows slanting together in annoyance while regarding the taller child who is running across the field and blocking the attempt at a goal by another team member. "Given his additional height, he must feel superior to his other classmates." 

"Yeah, but bullies usually make up for in brawn what they lack in smarts." Jim mutters, suppressing a scowl. 

Spock slides his hands into the jacket pockets for warmth, "Has an instructor or counselor not intervened?" He blinks in surprise as his fingers encounter a piece of paper in the left pocket, his fingers idly feeling its texture as he speaks. "Surely there is a no tolerance rule when it comes to acts of violence amongst the students." 

"Well yeah, if he hits anyone...no one does anything about the verbal abuse though, kids find ways of insulting each other that goes unnoticed by teachers, believe me Spock. It's easy, bullying a kid." Jim mutters; his tone laced with disgust. 

"Perhaps a conversation with the child’s parents is in order?" Spock comments as he drags the folded piece of paper out of his pocket, thumbing it open only to realize it's a photograph. 

"Oh, I've tried Spock, believe you me I've-" Jim falls silent as he notices what Spock holds in his hand, his expression turning toward both embarrassment and self-consciousness. 

Smoothing some of the creases out of the photograph, Spock sees it is a worn rendition of the image Jim had taken of David and himself at Christmas time three years ago. The thick piece of photographic paper is deeply creased and twisted, torn at the corners as if it has received much handling over the years.

"Oops..." Jim mutters, closing his hand over the photograph and slipping it out of Spock's fingers, leaning to one side in order to slide it into his back pants pocket. Blue eyes full of timidity and avoiding Spock's gaze, "I uh...needed something, didn't I?" He mutters, "To remind me of you." 

Spock's lips purse; not out of annoyance or any negative emotion but from sorrow. Jim had kept that photograph on him at all times apparently, something to look at whenever he wished to be reminded of Spock and David. Swallowing, Spock lets his eyes focus back out toward the practicing players. Silently and without judgement he offers his hand out toward Jim, two fingers extended in affection. 

Jim hesitates, glancing around them, but finally slips his fingers over Spock's in a light touch, a brief shiver of awareness passing between them as the link swells sweetly in their minds, although Spock's is still shielded from his earlier conversation with Sarek. Slowly, he lets that defense dissipate, tensing for an onslaught of emotion that never comes. Instead, Jim's mind is settled and calm; interested in both David's progress along the field and Spock at his side. No chaotic and familiar emotions tangle through their bond as Spock had expected, just the simple and soothing presence of the bright mind he has grown to cherish and appreciate over the years. It seems Jim has been practicing restraint, and Spock wonders if it is perhaps a result of their latest melds influencing some of Jim's thought processes.

 _'You continue to surprise me with your sentiments.'_ Spock intones across their touch, startling Jim out of his reverie. 

A slight smile tugs at Jim's lips as he gazes at him, _'Didn't you have something to remind yourself of us while you were gone?'_

 _'I have no need of such an object, considering my eidetic memory. I need not be reminded of the two most important individuals in my life.'_ Spock expresses mentally, watching as Jim senses the emotion behind his words like the perceptive being he is. 

_'You had my messages in those books I gave you though.'_ Jim reminds him, causing a slight flush to bloom across Spock's cheeks. 

_'I did, each of which I read multiple times Ashayam.'_

Jim's smug expression is enough to convince Spock of his lover's affection as they withdraw their hands from one another, though they still present a single unit in their tilt toward one another, huddled beneath the protective hood of the umbrella. When the children take a break from their practice, David comes running across the field toward them, shaking rain out of his hair and grinning brightly at them. 

"Did you see the goal I made?" David asks, radiating pride and confidence. Both Spock and Jim reply: 

"Indeed." 

"It was great, kid! Good job." 

"I got it right past George's nose too!" David grins, mimicking a ball with his hands skimming right past his face, eyes wide. 

"A commendable feat," Spock praises, watching as his approval makes David swell with even more pride. Vaguely, he wonders if he would have felt the same if Sarek had given him this kind of praise and approval. Considering his lack of experience with the feeling, he cannot say if he would have. At this point, if Sarek were to approve of anything regarding him and his decisions, it would simply seem odd to Spock. For despite all he has done, all his feats of skill and strength and intelligence, not a single instance has garnered his father's acclamation; at least...not until recently with his promotion to Commodore. But perhaps Sarek had only been congratulating him because he had wished to use Spock's newest rank to his advantage regarding Professor T'Mal. The thought makes Spock's stomach turn sour with shame. Was he only as useful to his father as an emissary? 

Spock cringes inside, for what if he cannot uncover any useful information about T'Mal to aide his Father? Would Sarek voice his disappointment, or would his continued silence on the matter only continue to affirm Spock's shame? His discomfort must be palpable to Jim somehow, because the dark turning of his thoughts are interrupted by a hand against his wrist, squeezing gently to gain his attention. When he turns his head, his brown eyes fall on Jim's upturned face, a compassionate smile curving Jim's supple lips. 

"Practice is almost over, and then we can go home, where it's warm." Jim promises, obviously mistaking Spock's withdrawn attitude for his defense and control over his reactions to the cold weather. Inclining his head, Spock allows Jim to keep operating under that assumption, realizing he doesn't want to admit the fearful twist of his own thoughts just yet.

.

Later that evening after consuming dinner, David has a shower to warm up and retires to his room tired and sufficiently warm and dry. After seeing to some personal and professional emails on his console in their home office, Spock finds himself considering his meditation mat. But he can tell by the state of his mind alone that achieving sufficient mental calm will be nearly impossible for him this evening, so he leaves his incense unburned and his mat rolled up in the corner of the room and casts a furtive glance toward the picture frame hiding Jim's safe. Given the nature of the safe, Spock is fairly certain he could bypass its security measures and access the contents therein, but his mind rebels against the obvious and gross disregard for Jim's privacy. He disregards the thought as an option on his way up the stairs toward their bedroom, turning off lights as he goes and with Snowy trailing cautiously up behind him, watching him warily.

Pausing at the top step, Spock leans down and offers the feline his hand, watching her sniff the scent of his skin before lowering her head in a show of submission, sliding her head into the curve of his palm to be caressed. With his other hand on the banister, Spock pets the feline for a short while, finding that that relationship at least seems to be mended. Snowy purrs under his attention, her tail crooked in a sign of respect for him before she has had her fill and moves off down the stairs to seek out David in his bed for the remainder of the night. 

In their bedroom, Spock finds Jim settled in bed with a book open in his lap, his fingers poised on the page and his glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose. When he hears Spock enter, he glances up, folding the corner of the page he was on down as a place holder before hastily slipping his glasses off with an embarrassed turn of his lips. "Hey..." He grins, sliding his legs down onto the bed beneath the sheets, his back supported by pillows and the headboard. 

Spock reaches up toward his shoulder, undoing the clasp of his tunic and sliding the hidden zipper down, shrugging the material off his arms and ducking into their closet to hang the garment up. A presence at his back causes him to turn. Jim's observant eyes travel up his frame clad in the simple pants and high-necked shirt wrapped over him. Warm hands come to rest against his chest and Spock lowers his head to accept the affection given in the form of a kiss. Fingers slip over the clasp at his waist holding his undershirt in place, the button slipping through the hole; material unraveling beneath Jim's directing fingers as he grasps the shoulders of the garment and draws it off over Spock's head. 

Jim grins up at him, "Your hair's all mussed." He chuckles and reaches up to pat down Spock's hair into some semblance of order, his fussing forestalled when Spock grasps his wrists and lowers them, wrapping his fingers around his partner's hands. Jim's expression shifts toward one of worry, his eye studying Spock's face for any hints he may be able to pick up by now, having spent enough time in the Vulcan's company to sense the changes in his demeanor. 

"What's wrong?" Jim asks tentatively, snapping Spock out of his introversion. 

Shaking his head minutely, Spock takes his shirt from Jim's grasp and turns to hang it up. A warm hand spreads over his back between his shoulder blades, a wordless plea to be noticed and acknowledged and Spock bites down on his lower lip. He cannot discuss his fears with Jim, least he alert his lover to the dangers of his job and perhaps jeopardize any chance they may have of figuring out T'Mal's project plans. And yet, Jim doesn't even seem to know the scope of her plans if his frustrated complaints were anything to go by. He was not privy to the deeper details of her scientific formulas. Perhaps if Spock looked at those formulas he could ascertain what the end game of her research really was. 

"Spock?" Jim's imploring voice urges him to turn around and Spock suppresses a sigh, guilt riding him hard as he turns about and catches Jim's hand in his own, forcing his partner back a step as he moves into Jim's space and forces their mouths together in a sudden kiss that takes Jim by surprise. Jim emits a startled noise as his back collides with the edge of their closet doorjamb and he clings to Spock for balance and support. Through the contact, Spock can sense the confusion and worry still in his partner, so he kisses him until it melts away, replaced by interest and arousal.

Grasping Jim's hips, Spock directs his partner back into the bedroom, leading him toward their bed and crawling over him as they come to lay together upon the sheets, Jim's hands wandering over and grasping at his form half bared to him. Spock moans in unexpected pleasure when Jim finds his hands, lacing their fingers together above his head and squeezing, exerting delicious pressure over sensitive nerves raw with the actions necessary throughout the day. 

"Nn- wait, wait..." Jim grunts past Spock's lips, speaking from the corner of his mouth against Spock's efforts to keep him silent and pliant under a constant show of his affection. But it seems, in the back of Jim's mind somewhere, he is still concerned. "Hold on a second, will ya?" Jim pants, freeing a hand to press into the center of Spock's chest, urging him to back away. When Spock reluctantly complies, sitting back on his heels over his partner's form, Jim sits up on his elbows and shakes the fog out of his mind with a sharp toss of his head. "You've been kind of distant since your meeting with Sarek... I don't think you're telling me the whole story here. Did something upset you? Earlier, you looked like you wanted to bolt or something." 

_Kroykah._ Spock sighs, lowering his head and regarding his hands pressed into the tops of his thighs. It would seem his attempt at distraction would not go as planned. Perhaps he could explain this in such a manner that would not alarm Jim. "I have...become increasingly uncomfortable regarding your employ under Professor T'Mal." 

Jim blinks, then frowns, "Wait, what? This is about that classified job?" Jim grunts, sitting up and forcing Spock to retreat from over his body until they are facing one another on their knees, Jim's arms folded as he sits back on his heels. "It's really simple Spock, I just have to design a casing for her device, once I've done that, she has no further need of me, as she's said to me quite bluntly in fact. I'll probably only be on the project for another week, maybe two." Jim huffs, "It really isn't anything to be worried about like this, she's explained a few things about it to me, and it seems like a really good idea. That is, if it works." He mutters. 

Spock's heart leaps both in fear and in intense interest as Jim speaks, "She has spoken with you about her device?" 

"A little, but it's all been classified. I had to sign an NDA and everything Spock. I-..." Jim grimaces, sliding a hand back through his hair and scratching at his scalp. "I'd kind of thought this might become a problem between us, keeping secrets. Even if it's only a professional job, I really don't like having to keep it from you. Hell, you could probably just read my mind and I'd call it an accident." Jim snorts, but Spock is horrified by the implication. 

"I would never violate your privacy or promises in such a manner, James." Spock denies, feeling a little sick at Jim's suggestion. 

"No, no! I know." Jim holds up his hands in an effort to soothe, shuffling forward on his knees to lay his hands upon Spock's shoulders. "I know you wouldn't, I'm just saying...if we were to meld and I was thinking about the whole issue, I wouldn't be blaming you if you picked up on that. I mean, hell Spock...you pick up on some of my other, more harmless thoughts after all." 

"I...shall refrain from doing so from now on, for I had not considered the classification of some of your thoughts." Spock says, making Jim scowl. 

"What? No! That's ridiculous, if you and I are to be mated sometime in the future, we can't have things from each other like that? I...need to get used to that thought now." Jim murmurs, "Maybe this is what Miss T'Mal was talking about." 

Spock's interest returns ten-fold, but this time it is sharpened with alarm, "Professor T'Mal has spoken with you about telepathic transference?" 

"Not in so many words but...she knows I'm in a relationship with a Vulcan; I've said as much when talking off the cuff with some of the other engineers. I suppose she overheard and later she asked me about the depth of our relationship. I get the feeling she was asking me if you and I were bonded, and when I told her you and I had been separated for just over three years, she seemed to relax, I guess? At least, she didn't seem so tense around me from then on. I guess she was worried I'd inadvertently reveal her work to you through a bond link or something." Reaching up, Jim rubs at his forehead in frustration, sinking back to sit upon his backside on the bed more comfortably, crossing his legs under him. 

If T'Mal was aware of their relationship, surely she would also be aware of his return from space. Would she question Jim again regarding their relationship? It was somewhat alarming that she had even asked Jim about such a private matter, as most Vulcans would not deem it logical or necessary to inquire about someone's personal life like that unless invited to. But she had actively questioned Jim. Perhaps she had a lot more to hide than either of them realized. 

Pursing his lips, Spock reaches behind him to turn out the lamp by the bed, plunging them into darkness only illuminated by a few street lamps outside the balcony doors. "H-Hey!" Jim startles as Spock reaches for him, drawing him down onto the bed and curling his arms about his partner in the manner in which he had longed to do since his conversation with Sarek.

"Promise me something." Spock murmurs listening to Jim's breathing as it calms down from his surprise. 

"Okay?" He asks voice tight with confusion. 

"Be diligent and defensive when you are in her presence, be guarded and safe. Will you do this for me, James?" Spock asks, imploring his lover with his tone, hoping his voice will convey his seriousness regarding this matter. Slowly, Jim relaxes, his head coming to rest against Spock's chest, his hand on Spock's side just over the Vulcan's hammering heart. 

"Okay...I promise. I'll be cautious, alright? I don't know why you're so upset about this, unless you know something I don't?" Jim asks, leaving his remark in an open ended question. 

"No...No more than you do." Spock murmurs, because in a way it is the truth. All Spock knows is a few personal things in regard to the Vulcan Professor, but telling Jim those facts would serve no purpose. As long as Jim is cautious and alert while in the compound during this job Spock can allow himself to feel a little settled. After all, Jim isn't a child; he can protect himself and knows how to do so adequately in most scenarios. However, when faced with the unknown...Spock cannot help but feel a fear for what Professor T'Mal may be constructing right under Starfleet's noses. _Ashayam...my love, please do not let your guard down. Don't make me lose you._ Turning his head, he presses his lips to the warm curve of Jim's brow, feeling Jim relax in his grasp again, letting this tense moment pass into memory. 

"I love you..." Jim murmurs softly, triggering an emotion in Spock he can only identify as contentedness and awe, accepting the affirmation of emotion from his partner just before Jim rolls a top him and traps him against the bed. "So stop worrying. Now...where were we?" Jim smirks, the wicked curve of his lips felt against the column of Spock's throat. In the dark, Spock's lips pull into a small smile, just before Jim's mouth wipes the expression clean with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any readers who do not feel comfortable commenting on a public forum, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	9. Made of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We journey with Spock to Central Command for his first day of official duty as a Commodore, meet his lovely Yeoman, and dip into David's school problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a long time to write, it's a lot of information and it's rather larger than most of my chapters but I didn't want to split it up like I did for Deeper Waters Part 1 and 2.
> 
> I admit, I've lost a little inspiration since writing this chapter, I feel like I've lost some readership and I know people come and go, that is expected. But I love hearing from you guys about my fic, what you like about it, your theories. But I am still writing this fic for me, this is a hobby not a job, I just have to take a step back and find that vein of passion again. So if the update is late next Sunday, it's because I'm hobbling my way through a new part of the story I find difficult to get into the headspace for. So, I apologize in advance! But I decided to post this chapter today anyway, hoping that it would give some enjoyment to a certain friend of mine. I only hope I did her justice in this chapter.   
>    
> On another note, I would like to thank my beta [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate), she has been a huge help talking through portions of this story with me. But any inconsistencies or mistakes in this chapter are at my fault, not hers, since I have the final read through. 
> 
> I am dedicating this chapter to [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/pseuds/MissBAMF), since I used her as a model for Spock's Yeoman. I only hope that she likes what I've done for this chapter and enjoys the interactions between Spock and Yeoman Nelson. (They aren't exactly alike but I wanted her to have a part in this fic). I did my best, and I hope it's entertaining. =]  
>    
> The title of this chapter is after [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ic-QgV3hbaQ) song, entitled _Made of Stone_ by **Matt Corby**. You are welcome to listen and enjoy it while reading this chapter, I felt it was fitting to the situation as we go deeper into David's bullying issues and highlight on Spock's past childhood strife.

Spock is awoken Monday morning, not by the alarm now transferred to Jim's side of the bed, but by an immovable weight pinning him down against the mattress and with warm breath fluttering against his cheek. He is reluctant to open his eyes, knowing that it is twenty minutes before the alarm will go off, prompting the other occupant of the bed to rise, and Spock wishes to savor the last few moments of undisturbed bliss. David had slept through the entire night in his own room as Jim had theorized he would, and he and Spock had shared another night wrapped up in one another without interruption. Until this moment however, Spock hadn't realized how _wrapped up_ he and Jim had become during the night. 

Upon opening his eyes, Spock glances at the chronometer across the bed to reassure himself of the time; indeed, another twenty minutes of quiet. Jim is curled on his side facing Spock, or rather sprawled over him would be a better description. His leg is thrown over Spock's own extremities with wild and uncaring abandon while his free arm, the one not curled beneath the pillows, is wedged heavily over the expanse of Spock's chest, fingers loosely curled in the material of Spock's cotton shirt. Jim's head is a heavy weight against Spock's shoulder, his hair tickling the curve of Spock's cheek. Spock's own arm is trapped against his side, numb from hours of immobility beneath Jim's body. 

Spock is distantly aware of the sluggish turnings of Jim's mind through their contact, his bare foot is entwined with Spock's own and his fingers are looped beneath the loose collar of his shirt, resting warmly against Spock's collarbone. It had not been the flickers and half-thoughts of Jim's sleeping consciousness that disturbed Spock from sleep, but rather it had been a dream from the Vulcan's own mind that had spurred him to wakefulness. He tries not to think about it at first, because dwelling on an odd and illogical scenario that had never happened is of no value to him. But the emotions from the dream still linger, even with his eyes open and his mind grounded in reality again. Perhaps meditating on the matter will put it to rest and chase the vestiges of terrible feeling to the far recesses of his mind. 

However, moving doesn't seem to be a viable option at this moment; Spock glances at the chronometer, knowing full well that only two minutes had passed since he had last checked it. Jim stirs, his stubbled cheek scratching across Spock's shirt as he takes a long and deep breath that morphs into a yawn. 

"Mmn..." Jim grumps, his voice is gravelly from disuse while his legs straighten out and tremble with tension as he stretches his muscles. Spock can hear a vertebrae in Jim's back pop and he tilts his head to look down at the wild tease of Jim's hair as his head shifts, finding that he is finally free to move his deadened arm out from under Jim as his companion rolls onto his back while rubbing his eyes. "Shit, ...time is it?" He asks brokenly, not bothering to speak with correct sentence structure just yet. 

"Seventeen minutes, fifteen seconds until we are due to rise," Spock remarks, watching his partner roll forward into a sitting position, his knees drawn up and his arms draped woodenly over them as he sniffs and gets his bearings again. 

"How long have you been awake?" Jim asks, casting a side-long glance over his shoulder at Spock still lying prone in their bed. 

"Three minutes, forty-six seconds," Spock responds, making Jim smile. "You did not wake me." 

"Schedule still messed up from being on the ship, huh?" Jim surmises, causing Spock to pause, his continued silence making Jim look back at him again with slight confusion. 

"No..." Spock murmurs, speaking more simply for the benefit of his partner's sleepy mind. "I...was experiencing what you might call a 'nightmare'," Spock confides, finding he no longer suffers so much awkwardness in speaking with Jim on such personal matters. Jim had never faulted him for his failings in the past, and Spock doubted he would begin now, therefore expressing himself to his partner brought him comfort rather than apprehension. No one understood him better. 

"You had a nightmare?" Jim repeats for his own understanding, reaching up to rub a hand over his forehead, seeming to need the gesture to wake up more fully. "I thought you didn't have those?" 

"They are rare," Spock admits. In fact, Spock hadn't had a nightmare since he had been a child living on Vulcan, plagued by his fears and supposed inadequacies. But this particular nightmare he could understand, for he hadn't meditated before going to bed the night before, thus allowing his subconscious to dwell on his fears regarding the new developments concerning Professor T'Mal and her potential dangers. In Spock’s dream, Jim had been in danger due to her decisions, his mind in turmoil over all sorts of illogical possibilities in regards to her work; in every scenario Jim had been compromised in the end, leaving a weeping child and a broken Vulcan mate behind. In one episode T'Mal had grown violent and attacked Jim, brandishing a Vulcan lirpa; a curious choice of weapon. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Jim asks no longer sleepy and distant, his probing eyes now sharp and viewing Spock with unveiled interest.

"It is of no consequence," Spock dismisses, hoping Jim might leave it at that, but he should have known better. 

"You're still worried about me working for Professor T'Mal, aren't you?" Jim questions, turning at the waist to plant a bracing hand on the mattress and to gain a better angle from which to watch Spock's face, no doubt trying to suss out any facial cues he is unaware of making. 

"The... _concern_ has not left my mind, no," Spock concedes, causing Jim to purse is lips in some unknown emotion. 

"Would it make you feel better if you met her this week?" Jim offers, "maybe once you meet her you'll realize she's completely harmless, really nothing to worry about at all. She's passionate about her work, very serious about the research, but she isn't a maniac." He mutters defensively, "it'd be like me fearing you once you start talking about the differences in flora and fauna on Rictus IV and Jezero." 

Jezero did have some interesting flora and fauna samples he had been fascinated to discover and examine during his time on the _Enterprise_ , but Jim's reassurances didn't settle him. Sarek had seemed seriously concerned over T'Mal's unduly protected existence here on Earth, and Sarek didn't often leap to conclusions about individuals he deemed a risk. However, meeting her might place him in an advantageous position to perhaps see what she was working on, or at least glimpse clues. "I would not be averse to meeting your employer." 

"Alright, I'll talk to her about it when I can," Jim nods, placed at ease by Spock's agreement. He shifts to glance at the chronometer on the nightstand, grimacing when he notes they only have ten more minutes before they must rise and face the day. "I've been thinking you know...about what you said to me about our bond yesterday," Jim murmurs, leaning his chin down to rest across his folded arms propped on his knees. 

Jarred from their earlier topic, Spock sits up, sliding a leg beneath him so he might turn comfortably to regard his partner, the sheets rasping under his movements. Jim glances at him, but Spock doesn't speak, merely prompts him to continue with a curious raise of his brow and a nod, despite the fact that inside he is brimming with anticipation and... a whole new kind of fear he is working to suppress. They had only spoken of this over the weekend, had Jim already made such a quick decision? Would the short amount of time be leading toward a denial? 

"In the moment, it seemed like this huge step for us, even though now...after taking a step back and really thinking about it, we're already sort of there...aren't we?" Jim questions, confusion puckering his brow. "We are already living with one another, already what some would call a family. We share a bed, we share of _each other_. In a way, I think it would be unfair of me to expect you to continue on like this without a betrothal bond, right?" 

Spock's brows furrow in discomfort at Jim's words, "Neg-," he swallows, pressing forward in a more sincere tone in an effort to reach Jim on his emotional level more quickly. "No," he continues, "it would not be unfair of you. As you have stated before, we have only been courting for a handful of months, not counting the years we communed long distance. However, I must make you aware that such a bond is more beneficial to me...than it would be to you." Spock purses his lips, considering their options. In truth, cohabiting without the presence of a deeper bond would eventually grow tiresome, the level of commitment he desired would not be present nor could it even be expected if Jim were to deny him the chance. But he would never think of forcing the subject. 

"That's not what bothers me," Jim murmurs, "I guess it's just my insecurities causing my hang up. I think it's hard for me to consider a bond with me as being all that beneficial to you, I'm _human_ , it's not like I'll be able to provide what you might need telepathically, right?" He winces, pushing a hand back through his tousled hair, smoothing the flat spot at the back of his skull where the hair had been compressed by the pillows. 

"James," Spock reaches out, sliding his hand over the curve of Jim's arm until he can wrest it from its place across his knees; he folds his fingers about Jim's wrist and guides that hand toward his face. Jim watches as Spock spreads his fingers in a facsimile of the initiation of a meld, Jim’s psi-null fingertips resting over the sensitive points across Spock's face. As those points are met, Spock's lids flutter under the sensation of Jim's mind; more tangible to him at the contact, and his lips part softly as he speaks.

"You seem to forget, I am half-human, I relish the differences between us and the thrum of your mind intrigues me. I will never tire of it, nor will I find the need to seek out another to meet these needs. In truth, I do not require more than you can provide. Contact like this?" Spock murmurs, lifting his opposite hand to mirror the gesture across Jim's features, causing their link to flare under his touch; Jim's thoughts brief echoes like overtones to Spock's voice, "It is enough, to be able to sense you like this." Deeper intimacy brought by a betrothal bond would be incredible to have with Jim, but Spock would take what he could get from this magnificent man before him. If Jim refused him, he would not ask again, but be satisfied with what he could have. 

_But this isn't enough..._ The thought isn't Spock's, that much he knows as Jim's features twist toward an expression of pain and sympathy, causing Spock to realize he is gathering impressions from what Jim’s mind is projecting. Together, they drop their hands; Jim's turning upward to circle around Spock's wrists like feather light manacles. "I have realized something at least," Jim says with a sheepish half-smile, "I _do_ want to be able to hold some claim over you, even if we don't wear rings in the end." 

Spock's heart trembles in his side at the open ended promise in Jim's statement, his partner continuing on, "I kind of like the thought of being bound to you, in a way. I mean, like I said before, it isn't like I have any intentions of ending this." Jim motions between them idly, alluding to the non-physical presence of their relationship, "So if this is something I can give you, something that will cement this growing... _thing_ between us? I want to do it." 

They both start in alarm as Jim's chronometer blinks over to five a.m., shocking them both out of this fragile atmosphere charged with anticipation and excitement. Jim grimaces and stretches back on his side to slap his hand down on the device, effectively ending its irritating trilling noise. Spock is silent a moment, waiting for the ringing to cease in his ears as Jim shifts in the bed clothes, glancing up with some measure of apprehension evident in his gaze as he watches Spock for some kind of response. 

"I-..." Spock searches his mind for something proper to say, something that would adequately translate his joy and pleasure over Jim's decision. But words seem to elude him and his desperation must show in his dark eyes, for Jim's expression shifts to a beaming smile as he reaches out and cups his hand around the base of Spock's skull, tugging him forward. Their foreheads press together, warm and supportive, the bright spin of Jim's mind only highlighting Spock's own emotions as he picks up on their nascent bond. Spock's eyes close and he is comforted by the fingers in his hair and the smile he can feel in the curving of the supple shape of Jim's mouth. "I am...gratified," Spock finally whispers, appreciating the moment when Jim feels the influence of his own emotions wafting down the strands of their connection to swirl together with Jim's feelings; like thin colors diluted by water without the presence of a meld. 

"Me too," Jim grins, tipping his chin up and capturing Spock's mouth in a lingering kiss, though they both know in the back of their minds that this celebration, this culminating of their minds will have to wait, because downstairs...a child still sleeps. They sit together for a little while longer, neither willing to peek at the chronometer lest the time seem to pass quicker as their arms twine about one another, lips questing across cheeks and throats with affection tightly leashed under the weight of reluctant responsibility. 

"So...I don't know how we might arrange it but," Jim trails off as he pulls away, reluctantly extricating himself from Spock's warm embrace. 

"There are some arrangements to be made; my clan mother must be notified so that your name might be placed on our records." If they are to marry, truly marry under the Vulcan way, Jim's name would not join his upon the family scrolls until they are formally united with a marriage bond. But in this case Jim's name would still be placed as an addendum beneath Spock's, holding a place of honor as his chosen one. "Though I believe I will be able to initiate the bond without any outside assistance." 

Jim considers his words as he rises from the bed clad in just his briefs, padding slowly around the foot-board as he considers Spock's words. "So we can do it here, we don't have to go to New Vulcan?" 

"Negative," Spock replies, "though I suggest we proceed with this on a day you will be free of responsibilities for at least twelve hours." 

Jim's eyes widen a fraction in surprise and Spock feels it distantly across their link. The emotion is strong enough to surface in Spock's mind without physical contact, "It'll take that long?" 

"Negative," Spock resists the amusement trying to curl his lips into a smile, but it shines in his gaze, relaxing Jim a little. "The process should not take more than an hour, given you are sufficiently relaxed and focused. However, because I do not know what effects you may suffer once we are bonded, I would like for you to have sufficient time in which to recover." 

"Oh," Jim tips his head, "I guess I can understand that. You're not going to rush me to the hospital if I black out again though, are you?" He asks, his voice echoing in their shared bathroom, the door left partially open even as Spock hears the sounds of his partner making use of the toilet as per his morning routine. 

"I cannot promise anything," Spock replies, rising from the comfort of their bed. He hears the toilet flush just as he enters their closet, seeking out his meditation robes and donning them, adjusting their weight across his chest and shoulders. If he is to be of any use at Starfleet Command, he knows he must sufficiently ready himself for the day, and that requires that he place these new and destabilizing emotions under tight reign once more. 

"Will you wake David up for me on your way?" Jim asks as he catches a glimpse of Spock just inside their bedroom door, his head poking around the corner of their bathroom door. 

Nodding, Spock leaves his intended to see to his morning routines, his bare footsteps whispering on the carpeted stairs. He finds David's door ajar; no doubt he had gotten up during the night to use the bathroom or seek out a glass of water, and when Spock presses the door aside he finds Snowy sitting up and alert on the end of David's bed. She trills at Spock's approach, getting to her feet and arching her furry spine, her tail twitching until Spock spares her a single caress to appease her need for acknowledgement. "David?" He begins, reaching down to lightly shift the child's shoulder, "it is time to rise." 

David groans, squinting up at him from under the curve of his forearm as he rolls onto his back, scowling. "Still tired..." He grumbles. 

"Perhaps we should detract an hour from your bed time and place it at eight in the evening then, until you are sufficiently rested," Spock proposes, getting the preferred response from his words as David thrashes into a sitting position, balking at the suggestion. 

"What? No way!" David snaps, shocked. 

"Then you must rise with the rest of us, David," Spock intones, turning back toward the door and grazing his fingers up the light switch, flooding the room behind him with light and hearing David squawk at the sudden illumination of his gloomy cavern. "Besides, are you not anticipating the science fair this afternoon?" 

Peering back over his shoulder, Spock catches the moment David's scowling face twists toward pure excitement, his blue eyes bursting with energy. "Oh yeah!" He crows, tearing from his bed, causing Snowy to yowl in annoyance and leap from the edge of the mattress. 

Closing David's door behind him, Spock listens for movement upstairs as he stands in the entryway to the kitchen; he estimates Jim's time of arrival to be three and a half minutes too late to prepare David an adequate meal, so he opens the fridge and sets to the task himself. The cat stalks him from the edge of the island and slinks after him, chasing the trail of his robes at his feet. She nearly gets under foot at one point and Spock has to nudge her aside gently, choosing to distract her by refreshing her bowl of water near her food dish. Spock is just setting out a bowl of sliced melon and berries next to David's plate of toast when Jim comes jogging down the stairs, hair still damp from his shower. 

"I have prepared enough for you to partake of the morning meal, James," Spock says with a pointed look in his lover's direction, making Jim's expression turn sheepish as he finishes pouring himself a cup of coffee from the machine Spock had switched on earlier. 

"You really shouldn't have. Thank you," Jim replies, casting his son a glance as David comes scampering into the kitchen to sit down at the breakfast table.

Picking up a bowl of his own cut fruit, Spock firms up his glare at Jim before taking a bite, causing Jim to raise his free hand in surrender and slink toward the table to eat. David twists around in his seat to look at the finished model volcano resting on the counter by the toaster oven. "I'm gonna get first prize," David grins, licking jam off his lips. 

"That is quite possible," Spock intones, leaning his hip against the edge of the counter and finishing his bowl of fruit just as Jim is done wolfing down his slice of toast. 

"Sorry Spock, you'll have to stick this in the fridge for me later, I don't have time," Jim says with a grimace, scalding himself on a sip of his coffee as he gets to his feet and hurriedly dumps his plate into the sink, leaving his bowl behind on the table. "I've got to get my things together or we're going to be late. Eat up kiddo, you've got three minutes!" 

David whips around and digs his spoon into his bowl of fruit, chasing around some melon and shoveling it into his mouth as Spock approaches the table to retrieve Jim's discarded breakfast with a slight sigh. At least Jim had eaten the toast. 

"I'll do it just like we practiced!" David beams, "it'll be _awesome_!" 

Spock's eyes soften at David's avid enthusiasm, proud of the child's interest in chemical reactions. He picks up the boy's empty plate and glass, taking them to the sink with David following behind, chasing around the last few berries in his bowl with his spoon. "And...and uh," he scoops a blueberry into his mouth, handing Spock the bowl, "I'll explain it just like you did." He grins admiringly up at Spock before darting away, no doubt to get his backpack from his room and find his jacket. "Just you wait, Spock! I'll get the gold ribbon!" 

His lips curve into a small smile as he rinses their dishes and places them in the sanitation unit to run later, hearing Jim rifling around in their office and gathering his materials for a day at Professor T'Mal's research facility. Apprehension darkens the corners of Spock's consciousness, but he pushes it away, telling himself that there is a time for worry and a time for action, and now is not yet the time for the former. 

"David, get your shoes on, I'll be in the car!" Jim shouts down the hall as he emerges, arms loaded down with metal-plated tubes full of his rolled up blueprints, his holo-top case slung over his other shoulder and making him lean as he walks. "Ah shoot," he huffs as he spies David's science project on the counter, "can you help me get that down to the car?" He asks Spock with a jerk of his head, keys jangling in his hand as he shuffles toward the garage door. 

Lifting the model volcano off the counter, Spock hefts its weight and carefully maneuvers it out of the kitchen and down the hall, following Jim at a slower pace down the stairs, rendered blind to the placement of his feet with the massive model held before him. Jim has the back gate of the car lifted by the time he gets there and Spock slides it in along the floor of the vehicle as David thunders down the steps. "G'bye, Spock! Wish me luck!" He quips as he yanks the back passenger door open, clamoring into the car with Jim slamming the door shut behind him.

Spock steps back, giving Jim room to get into the car and back out of the garage, but his partner snatches the edge of his sleeve and reels him back half a step, leaning up to catch Spock in an abrupt kiss that sends sparks of awareness shivering across his senses, raising goosebumps along his arms and shoulders under his robe. "I'll see you tonight." Jim says with a smile full of promise, eyes wickedly gleaming. Spock barely has time for a breath before Jim is whirling around, opening the driver's side door, shoving his things into the front seat across from him and climbing in. 

After receiving one final wave from both his contented humans, Spock closes the garage door behind the retreating vehicle and mounts the steps, pleased that at least his own morning routine might be less hurried than his counterpart's. Spock enjoys his peace as he tends to his needs, arranging himself into a comfortable meditation pose in the home office for a half hour, interrupted only by the curious house cat coming to investigate his immobile form. He scoops the cat up off the floor, who protests by digging her claws through the fabric of his robe and into his shoulder until he sets her down in the hall, having sealed off the office by closing the door behind them. She seems to huff, haughtily striding away toward the living room without a backward glance, dismissing him. 

Spock sees to his own ablutions in the bathroom upstairs, washing his partner’s scent and sweat off his skin, where it had transferred to after being draped over by Jim. He changes into his new Commodore uniform that had been sent to the house Sunday evening, having been tailored to the sizes specified in his records.

Spock emerges from the bedroom clad in grey and white, the long stripe of white fabric delineating his chest. The contrasting grey sleeves and shoulders display the new epaulets gleaming on either side of his collar. The trim about his hat, previously silver with the Starfleet insignia posted front and center, now shines gold, as does his chest pin. He straightens his cuffs with two precise tugs, smoothing the material over his skin and glancing out the window in the living room. He has plans to purchase himself a reliable vehicle, but for now, his only option is either to ride public transportation or send for a fleet car.

His eye strays toward the lyre where it rests on its stand, his fingers twitching for something to do rather than be idle or simply holding onto his PADD while he waits for his transport to arrive, however he knows that to give in to that urge will only distract him from the focus he has managed to gain through his meditations. So he stands like a sentinel in the room. Jim would have thought him ridiculous no doubt, asking him to do some mundane task simply to keep him busy him rather than watch his partner stand edgily waiting. 

When a sleek, black hover car pulls up along the curb outside the house, Spock picks up his key from the table near the door and exits the house, pausing to lock up and pocketing the old key on his way down the stairs, sliding his hat onto his head for the brief trek down to the car and removing it once he ducks into the front seat of the vehicle. A woman in yeoman fatigues greets him with a smile, "Hello Commodore, my name is Brittney Nelson and I've been assigned to be your yeoman." Her brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail with two perfect ringlets framing her face to either side, gleams just as brightly as her smile. She lifts her right hand from the steering wheel and gives Spock a polite greeting, spreading her fingers in the ta'al for his benefit before refocusing her gaze on the road as they pull away from the curb. "I am to assist you with any work you may require and see to any professional and personal needs at your discretion. I've been trained in several different languages and I minored in Golic Vulcan, though I would love the chance to practice it if you would permit me to." 

Spock blinks as this woman, a stranger, pours out information in a constant, steady stream of chatter. Although she has done most of the speaking up to now, Spock cannot find that he minds it hearing her clear voice. "I will allow it." He says simply, glancing sidelong at his new yeoman in time to see her smile directed toward the front windshield, seeming to be rather satisfied with both herself and his answer.

"Wonderful, then I shall apprise you of your current schedule for today." She begins, "I do not think I shall need to give you a tour of the facilities, correct?" Yeoman Nelson asks, casting him a glance. 

"You are correct," He replies. 

"Alright," She nods curtly, adjusting her hands on the steering wheel and rolling her shoulders back, "Mondays are check-in days but you haven't been assigned your full rotation as of yet, so I have nothing to report on that matter, however, you are expected to attend the nine-fifteen meeting this morning in Meeting Room Two in the south wing. I have walked the distance from your new office to the meeting room and have found that it takes me five and a half minutes." 

Spock blinks, impressed. So far, her words have been not only well memorized but well thought out. "Thank you Yeoman, is that all?" 

"Not quite sir," Yeoman Nelson continues, "you have already received several messages since Friday afternoon. Shall I forward them to your personal PADD?" 

"Affirmative," Spock replies; curious. Who would already be messaging him, on his first day no less? 

"In addition, you are required to report to the Administrations department before twelve o'clock this afternoon in order to sign paperwork permitting changes to your financial and medical benefits. Welcome to the brass, Commodore." She grins, her expression only seeming to widen in glee when he arches a brow at her. 

"Have I any appointments?" Spock inquires further. 

"No sir, but Admiral Pike did ask about your schedule this morning when I arrived at my desk. He wanted to be sure you had time to speak with him this afternoon." 

"According to your list of my tasks, I shall." Spock blinks, not used to this level of efficiency in a yeoman, much less a human one. Not many of Spock's previous yeomen had taken their work this seriously and he must admit he is pleased with this woman's professionalism. Another point in her favor was that, so far, she had not asked him a single personal query. 

"Your new orders shall be received in your office by late this morning, so by then you shall have plenty to do." Yeoman Nelson assures him as they signal into a second lane, taking an exit off an overpass and onto Starfleet grounds. They drive up to a guard post outside a private lot, an energy field raised before them blocking their way as a uniformed man ambles out of the small building to check the Yeoman's I.D. card. He waves her through, lowering the energy field for them. "You will find identification tags on your desk, Commodore." She mentions this when she catches Spock glancing at the one hanging from her wrist. 

She parks the transport in a row of several others of the same make and model and together they exit the vehicle and cross onto the sidewalk, Spock tipping his hat back onto his head and adjusting its fit. The morning fog has cleared somewhat, giving way to a passable day as rays of sun struggle to penetrate the lingering clouds overhead. Spock is gratified that he had chosen to wear his thermals beneath his uniform; the weather still not quite on par with his preferences or with what his body had acclimated to aboard the _Enterprise_. 

Walking on Yeoman Nelson's right, Spock casts his eyes about their surroundings. The landscape has always been precise on Starfleet campuses, the bio-engineered lawns manicured and modified to only grow a short length. The trees are always pruned and well kept; the various landmarks kept clean and tidy, including the occasional fountain and the Starfleet insignia monument, gleaming under the patchy spots of San Francisco sunlight. Spock notes several familiar buildings in the distance, but front and center is Central Command, or as most officers phrase it, 'Starfleet Command'. The building is regal in its own right, standing tall and wide. A wall of glass and stainless steel reflects the weather and passersby both as Spock and his Yeoman approach the sliding glass doors. 

They enter an antechamber where a guard sits to the left behind a window encased in impenetrable glass; several energy field gateways with card readers bank the entrance to the lobby. Yeoman Nelson brandishes her I.D. chip off her wrist and holds it up to the reader while motioning to the teller behind the glass and raising her voice, "And guest!" She clarifies and the energy field drops, the two of them passing in single file between the two linear grids into the wide open lobby of Central Command, Spock sweeping the hat from off his head. The noise level is much higher here, but with the soaring ceilings, everything has a distinct echo, a cacophony of footsteps clattering over marble floors and voices speaking to one another or into communication devices in all variety of languages. Spock purses his lips, grasping at his mental shields like a lifeline to keep them from crumbling under the press of emotions and minds buffeting against his own. 

"It can be rather overwhelming at first." Yeoman Nelson's voice startles Spock out of his observations and he must have visibly tensed, for her smile is more sympathetic than smug or triumphant at his embarrassing slip-up. "This way, Commodore!" She chirps, leading them through the moving crowds of people toward the first bank of turbo-lifts located at the top of two marble flights of steps. Spock's hand ghosts the metal railing on the last flight, mostly to keep his balance as an angry Tellerite charges past him down the steps, shouting abuse into a communicator poised at his ear.

Nelson holds the lift for him until he catches up, Spock just sliding in before the doors are forced shut, some irritated soul stabbing their finger repeatedly into the button for closing the doors and muttering, "People got places to be Vulcan." Spock arches a brow at the individual, but it appears they thought he had not heard, for they are ignoring his glare. 

Fortunately, the crowded lift disgorges most of its load on the third and fifth floors and Spock lets out a long, slow breath as he, Yeoman Nelson, and one other uniformed individual are left to ride the lift the rest of the way up. Nelson drops her voice, tone sympathetic again, "You'll have access to the private lifts used by the ranking officers once you get your I.D. chip, sir." 

If Spock were prone to thanking deities, he might have done so in that moment. At least he would not have to suffer such a claustrophobic and stifling ride as that every morning. "Noted," He says curtly, hoping his relief doesn't show as they both step out onto the tenth floor of Central Command. Here, at least, the noise of conversation and work is muted, the carpet absorbing sound and closed cubicles effectively rendering employees soundless. 

"This is your division, sir," Nelson says with an approving smile, gesturing at the place as a whole as they walk down a hallway with doors opening off of it every eleven and a half feet. "Now that you'll be keeping tabs on our Science Division Headquarters, your office is straight across from Rear Admiral Haynez's office. He'll walk you through some of our procedures here before transferring the work load. He's been covering two divisions too long, Commodore." She says with a slight widening of her eyes, expression turned suddenly serious. 

"I intend to be of service in whatever way I can," Spock offers as he follows her past a heavy door, her hand lingering on the glass to hold it open for him. However, he hangs back when he sees his name on a digital placard outside the office space. _Commodore S'chn T'gai, Spock_. He blinks at the presence of his clan name, noting its Federation Standard spelling rather than the Golic script he is used to seeing it scrawled in by his own hand. 

"This way, sir!" Nelson prompts him, shaming him a second time as he realizes he's gawking. Spock smooths the front of his uniform, moving his hat to rest beneath the curve of his other arm as they pass a desk and reception area obviously meant for the Yeoman and proceed down a short hallway to a heavy, solidly shut door. Strangely enough, none of these interior doors are rigged by pneumatics, but are simple, old fashioned doors with handles. Perhaps they are more private this way. When his Yeoman opens the door for him, ushering him into his own office with a smile, he notes the thickness of the door panel. Indeed, his office seems sound proof. 

The room Spock enters into is devoid of embellishments, wide open and clutter-free. A simple glass-topped desk sits in the center of the room up against a bank of tall windows, and deep box shelves line the adjacent wall to the right of his desk. A work terminal, Starfleet's newest model, awaits on the desk and Spock slides the chair out from behind it, surveying the room from this vantage point. Nelson lingers at the door, her hands clasped behind her back, head cocked. 

"Can I get you anything before your nine-fifteen meeting, sir? Coffee, tea?" She offers. 

"Tea, please," Spock clarifies, "de-caf, unsweetened." 

"Herbal?" Yeoman Nelson blinks. 

"Affirmative," Spock sinks into his seat behind the desk and switches on his terminal, hearing the door to his office whisper shut on quiet hinges. Compared to his experience during entrance to the building, this place is like a haven of quiet and Spock allows himself to savor it a moment, not wishing to disturb the peace and deprive his mind the chance to re-collect itself. For now, he has the time, which he confirms with a secondary glance at the chronometer resting on the desk beneath a utilitarian office lamp. He has fifteen minutes before he must depart for the Officer's meeting. 

"Computer," He addresses his terminal, leaning back in his seat and setting his PADD aside.

"Working..." His terminal replies, causing Spock to blink in surprise. Normally a computer terminal cannot mimic speech so accurately, for the computerized voice sounds rather more human than it ever had on the _Enterprise_. The perks of upgrades are apparent. 

"Please search any and all information pertaining to 'The Genesis Project'?" He prompts, a frisson of nervousness seizing him in that moment. What if his search triggers a monitoring response? Perhaps requests for such classified information are protected by alarm codes. 

"Please specify." The computer replies, causing Spock to purse his lips. 

"Search 'The Genesis Project', implemented stardate 2261.8," Spock reiterates, waiting as the terminal searches and then repeats: 

"Information pertaining to 'The Genesis Project' is classified under restriction codes one and two. Please provide personal clearance code." 

Spock frowns, folding his hands idly in his lap, twitching his chair minutely back and forth as he considers his options. He knows, even as a newly promoted Commodore, his clearance level is not high enough to access this kind of classification. Only Admiralty would have this information at their disposal. "Computer, search the name Solen T'Mihn, T'Mal." 

After a shorter wait, the computer beeps and replies, "Solen T'Mihn, T'Mal: female. Born stardate 2224.3 upon former planet Vulcan. Race: Vulcan. Age: thirty-seven solar years. Former occupation: Registered Starfleet Professor specializing in Science and Astro-physics divisions. Current location: classified. Current occupation: classified. Current-" 

"Stop." Spock suppresses a sigh, having learned very little from his search, save for her physical appearance. On his screen, a severe face stares back at him. T’Mal’s sharp features are outlined by a short bob of dark brown hair, her bangs cut to a pointed and unusual 'V' at the apex of her forehead. Spock closes out the search program and brings up the messaging application instead, noting the several messages already present. One is his official orders outlining his duties, including the names of several fleet ships under his responsibility to check in on and he makes note of them on his PADD, resolving to become familiar with their crew and ships specifications once he has the time. 

A knock on his door interrupts his reading of a message from Admiral Pike, which restates much of what his Yeoman had told him earlier that morning. The woman herself peeks around the edge of his door and enters carrying a tray with a single mug balanced upon it, tendrils of steam curling up from the rim. "Your tea, sir," She smiles, pleased in her task as she brings him his cup and sets it within his reach on what Spock notices to be a...stone coaster. Logical.

"Is there anything else you require this morning?" Nelson asks, tucking the tray under her arm. "If not, I am ready to accompany you to your meeting." 

Spock blinks, "that will be...unnecessary, Yeoman." 

Nelson's shoulders seem to deflate a little at his dismissal but rather than backing away, as Spock expects her to, she bristles. "Sir, if I do not accompany you, who will aid you in keeping notes of the proceedings?" 

Spock tilts his head, his eyes scanning toward his PADD resting idle on his desk, reaching for his tea. "I am fully capable of taking my own notes, Yeoman." 

"But...it is my _job_ , sir." Nelson argues further, for once her face solemnly dropping into one of confusion and disappointment. 

Wishing to avoid confrontation, Spock considers his options. It would seem that his promotion comes with certain privileges, so it appears he is expected to allow others to do his work for him. Spock knew he could take adequate notes during the meeting on his own, but something about Nelson's stony expression made him sense her true feelings beneath. She seemed crestfallen, as if this job was her true source of excitement and he was taking that from her. Idly, he wondered what her occupation position she had held before this one. Perhaps his skills at reading Jim were beginning to bleed over into his professional life. 

Taking a sip of his hot tea, Spock pauses a moment to discern its flavor; lemon ginger, but brewed to a weaker strength as not to exceed his tolerance of the strong flavors. It would seem Yeoman Nelson had done her research on Vulcan dietary preferences. That alone convinced him to humor her. After all, it was their first day working together and they would have to find a way that fit them both. "Very well." Standing from his desk, Spock sets his tea aside and picks up his hat, passing a glowing Yeoman Nelson to reach the door. "Send your notes to my personal data PADD by this evening." He instructs as they emerge out into the hallway together, their earlier conversation forgotten and his Yeoman brandishing her own PADD with a pleased little smile.

"Yes sir!" She nods.

 

The meeting goes on for an hour and a half and Spock sits amongst his superior officers at a round table; a center holo grid projects the information needed for the topic at hand, displaying the current projected courses of each of their fleet ships through known quadrants of space. Other ships traversing the father sectors of space, out into the unknown, are not displayed but their last known locations are marked by holographic beacons, flashing the ships last known contact position. 

Spock's Yeoman had taken notes admirably throughout the proceedings and Spock had sat, listening, feeling somewhat awkward for not having something more to do, his opinions being limited to the discussions at hand given his newness to his position. However, he does pay close attention to the last marked locations of the five ships he has become responsible for, exploring out there in the black. 

When they are dismissed, Spock rises, leaving behind an untouched glass of water provided for him and motioning Nelson to walk ahead of him as all the Officers and their Yeoman file out of the meeting room. Just as they reach the doors, a voice calls Spock back: 

"Commodore Spock," Admiral Komack's voice is easily recognizable and Spock turns, gently motioning Nelson to continue on without him. Reluctantly, she turns, folding her PADD beneath her arm, ponytail swinging neatly behind her, and departs. 

The meeting room door clicks shut and Spock folds his hands behind his back, lifting his chin, "Sir?" 

"How are you settling in, any problems?" Admiral Komack inquires, perching one hip against the edge of the conference table, his hands loosely folded before him in a welcoming, open posture. 

"None, sir," Spock replies. For some unknown reason, the Admiral smiles. 

"Good to hear. Is Yeoman Nelson working out for you okay?" He presses on, tilting his head curiously. 

"Affirmative," Spock returns, knowing that he must not be giving the right answers, for Admiral Komack is still unsatisfied, drawing out their conversation. 

"Adjusting well to being dirt-side then?" 

"Yes, sir," Spock's eyes shift away as his mind searches for more to say, but he doesn't know what the Admiral is digging for, nor is he too inclined to provide personal information, so he says, "It is good to be home." 

"Yes, yes..." The Admiral nods, displaying his bland understanding. "Though us men of action will always miss a bit of the thrill, huh?" 

Spock blinks, thoroughly lost as to the path of this exchange, "I do not understand, please clarify?" 

"Ah, it's nothing Commodore." Admiral Komack shrugs, "do let my yeoman know should you require anything, or if you need to speak with me. You're dismissed, Commodore." 

Somewhat relieved, Spock exits the meeting room, his mind turning over the conversation as he walks. Had the Admiral been fishing? Or had he simply been wishing to convey a position of solidarity? Whatever his intentions, they were thwarted by Spock's penchant toward privacy. 

Back at his office, Spock pointedly ignores Yeoman Nelson's curious stare as he returns from his confrontation with the Fleet Admiral, slipping into his office and closing the door. He had some reports to go through now that they had been forwarded to him from Rear Admiral Haynez; a man of whom he had yet to meet, given that he was currently visiting a facility off campus. However, he had sent a message outlining some of his responsibilities regarding the division he was handing over to Spock. 

Settling down at his desk, Spock automatically reaches for the mug of tea resting there still, but finds it is cold and leaves it there, switching on his terminal to read through some of the science ship _Bastion’s_ 's latest science reports. 

Just as he was becoming thoroughly engrossed in the parameters of a project the ship's CSO had been outlining in his last report, there is another knock at his door and Spock leans back in his seat, wondering if interruptions will be a common thing here at his offices in Central Command. "Come." He commands, though the face emerging behind his opening door calms the minor annoyance prickling down his neck. 

"Admiral Pike," Spock greets, getting to his feet even as the Admiral waves him back into it, grinning at him. 

"As you were son, as you were." Admiral Pike chuckles, leaning on his cane as he limps over to inhabit one of the two identical leather chairs before Spock’s desk. He sinks down with a grateful sigh. He had sat across the conference table from Spock during the meeting earlier, but they had been unable to truly speak with one another at the time. "Just wanted to check in with you, see how things were going so far." Pike comments, propping his metal cane against the armrest of the chair. 

Not wishing to seem disrespectful, Spock rises from his seat and circles the desk, claiming the other leather chair adjacent to his superior officer. "So far ‘things’ are adequate, Admiral," Spock confides. 

"How's Jim?" Pike asks, a fond smile curving his lips. "And David, of course." 

"They are functional." Spock returns, and hesitates, watching Pike's blue eyes shimmer with amusement, causing him to slip more toward the companionable rapport they had once enjoyed when Pike had been Captain. "They are...content." He supplies, gratified by Pike's deep nod of approval. 

"Good, glad to hear it." Pike shifts forward, leaning his forearms against his knees and regarding Spock intensely, grey hair turning silver under the light filtering in through Spock's unshuttered windows. "But you, Spock...how are _you_?" He presses. Rather than seem intrusive, Pike's concern is sincere and appreciated by Spock as he feels the weight of his old friend's gaze still turned on him. "That last scuffle your ship was involved in was pretty touch and go there for a while, we lost all communication with you and the crew for twelve hours...you sustained multiple injuries. How are you holding up?" 

"I am adequate, Admiral, as I stated during my debriefing last Thursday," Spock replies, his voice holding a little warmer tone. He may not smile, but Pike does so enough for the both of them. 

"Please, Spock...at least in private call me Chris." 

This is an old argument; the Admiral had been trying to break Spock of his polite and professional address of him for the entirety of their acquaintance, but it was a matter of respect for Spock and he felt uncomfortable with using such in-formalities. Though, if he could manage it with Jim...he really ought to try harder with Pike. "Very well," He concedes, dropping his gaze. 

"I apologize for not having the chance to properly congratulate you after the promotions ceremony, but when I managed to hobble my way off that damn stage you were nowhere in sight," Pike chuckles. 

"Ah, I regret not being able to speak with more individuals present at the ceremony, but other matters seemed more...pressing." Spock cringes inwardly, because those more pressing matters had been getting Jim alone, a truly unprofessional and carnal response on his part. 

"Heh, yeah I bet they did..." Pike murmurs, but there is no disrespect or hidden innuendo in his words, just a vague and sincere understanding that Spock appreciates as they sit in companionable silence. Aside from Nyota, James, and David...Admiral Pike is truly the only other person Spock feels comfortable conversing with openly. He had never been chastised, ridiculed, reprimanded, or ignored by the man and Spock had learned to place a measure of trust in Pike for those qualities alone. 

"Your Yeoman seems pretty keen." Pike smirks, casting Spock a sympathetic glance, blue eyes twinkling pleasantly, "she asked me if I wanted coffee twice before telling me you were free." 

"She is...thorough. I appreciate her skills, and she seems astute," Spock agrees. "I believe she is simply suffering what you might call, 'first day jitters'?" 

Pike laughs, a pure and unadulterated sound that causes memories of amusing conversations past to crop up in Spock's mind. "It'll wear off." Pike grins, waving a dismissive hand, "it always does. And then she'll be barking orders at you, forcing you to eat healthier and visit the campus gym a little more often. She'll have all your important dates down pat, and send flowers to Jim on your anniversary."

Spock cocks his head, arching a brow, "I have not told her the date on which James and I initiated our relationship." 

"She's a woman," Pike argues with a shake of his head and a fond smile, "they always manage to find out somehow." Grunting, Pike gets to his feet with the aid of his cane, straightening up and jerking on the front of his uniform to smooth it out. "Well, I'd stay and chat longer, but I've got another meeting this morning. Don't be a stranger Spock. If you need anything, I'm just one floor up. Maybe Number One and I will have you, Jim, and David over for dinner one of these days," he says with a kind smile, and Spock rises, skirting past his friend and colleague to open the door for him. 

"James would enjoy that," Spock replies, nodding. "We appreciate the invitation." 

"Well, I wouldn't be saying that just yet," Pike chuckles, "you haven't had to suffer Number One's cooking yet." He smirks, lifting a hand in farewell before turning, leaving Spock to ruminate as his door slides shut again. 

The conversation about the intervening two months before the _Enterprise’s_ 's return from space had brought some unwanted memories of the altercation back to Spock's mind and he seats himself before his terminal, determined to banish those thoughts by burying himself in reports and supplemental documents. Better to be drowning in paper work than struggling to focus past violent memories he would rather forget than re- live. 

 

Later that afternoon, Spock is just boarding the turbo-lift from administrations, having just finished signing various digital documents for record when his communicator begins to buzz inside his pocket. He had silenced it for the meeting and only now realizes that he had forgotten to raise the incoming call volume again. Fishing it out, Spock dismisses several guesses as to the identity of the caller when he reads the display, confusion blooming in the pits of his stomach. The number is unfamiliar to him, a single long code from a public line he has no record of. However, with his new position, he realizes that every call could have the potential for being important now, so he raises the device to his ear after swiping his thumb over the options screen. 

"This is Spock." He intones, stepping out of the lift onto his floor and striding toward his office down the hall. "May I inquire as to who is calling this number?" 

An unknown female's voice filters through the connection, "Hello, Mr. Spock, this is Debra DuVoe at Junipero Serra Elementary and I'm calling in regards to an issue we've had with your child David this afternoon." 

Spock's steps falter a fraction, causing him to come up short just inside the door to his office, Yeoman Nelson looking up sharply from her terminal with a confused and somewhat worried glance. "I...do not understand, please clarify? What is the issue regarding David?" _Your child..._ That single phrase had thrown him for a loop, acting as a shock to the system. Then again, Jim had told him he had updated Spock's contact status with David's school earlier that week. 

"I would prefer to talk to you about it in person rather than over a transmission, sir. Are you available to come retrieve David from school early?" Mrs. DuVoe inquires, causing Spock's mind to race. Why were they not contacting Jim, was he not their primary contact after all? Perhaps they had tried to get in touch, but Jim had been occupied. Were communicators not allowed on T'Mal's research facility premises? 

Thinking quickly, Spock approaches Yeoman Nelson's desk, resting his hand on the counter encircling it and ignoring her inquisitive expression, "Very well, I shall endeavor to arrive shortly. David is not in any distress, is he? Not injured?" He asks, concern threatening to tinge his words with impatience. 

"He's fine, Mr. Spock, though a little scraped up, as you'll see when you get here. You can come right into administrations to avoid the gate if you need to." The woman explains, reminding Spock that he didn't have an access pass like the one Jim kept in his car. 

"Very well," Pursing his lips, Spock ends the transmission, pocketing his communicator. A wave of weariness threatens to override his concern, but he pushes it aside. David needs him, is potentially in some kind of physical or emotional pain, and Jim is unavailable. The only logical alternative is for him to leave work early to collect the child. 

"Is everything alright?" Yeoman Nelson questions, her hands sliding off her keypad to rest in her lap. 

"That is unknown to me at the moment," Spock says, turning possible options over in his mind. To leave work early on his first day might leave a bad impression with some of his superiors. But this seems to be an unusual and urgent case. "I must borrow a fleet car, is one available at this time?" 

Obviously glad to be of help, Nelson leans forward and taps at the keys to her terminal, answering him a moment later, "yes, there is one available in docking bay four in the adjacent lot to us. Shall I place your request now so it may be approved?" 

"Affirmative," Spock replies, leaning his forearm against the edge of her desk. 

"Will you be returning it today, or tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow." It is late enough in the afternoon that Spock doubts he will have the time to return to work today, especially if this issue at David's school takes longer than he anticipates. 

"Do you need me to cancel any appointments for you?" Nelson asks, her eyes still on her terminal as she types. 

"Negative, if anyone inquires, I had to retrieve my partner's son from school; it seems there is some emergency." Spock turns away, intending to head into his office to collect his few personal belongings, but Nelson's voice forestalls him. 

"Call me if you should need any assistance, sir." When Spock looks back at her, her expression is firmly set in one of determination, "I took the liberty of sending you my personal communicator number in any event you might require it." 

"Noted. And," Spock hesitates, not used to having someone he barely knew be so openly sincere and caring, "thank you, Yeoman." She flashes him a small smile before refocusing her gaze on her terminal screen, leaving Spock to duck into his office and retrieve his PADD and hat. It is only fifteen minutes to one in the afternoon and Spock tells himself he is only missing three hours and fifteen minutes of work; if this doesn't become a common occurrence he should not be reprimanded. Perhaps there are rules in regards to officers attending to offspring that he might cite in his defense should anyone question his early departure this afternoon. 

His mind turns from his difficulties toward David as he enters a departing turbo-lift, riding it all the way down to the lobby and emerging into the vast, loud atrium. He doesn't cringe this time, his steps fueled by determination and worry, his mind choosing to dwell on the worst case scenarios. Perhaps David is ill and requires his care, or perhaps he has become injured. David had been excited about today's science fair, but the chemical components needed for his erupting model volcano should not have caused him any injury. Spock is still deliberating by the time he reaches the exit gates, flashing his shiny, new badge at the man seated behind the screen at his post and receiving a nod as he hurries past, his long strides cutting across the rest of the campus at a quick clip.

The car he finds in docking bay four is exactly like the one his Yeoman had picked him up in that morning, a black four-door sedan with a small Starfleet insignia discreetly depicted over the hood. Spock only has to press his thumb into the security pad along the door panel to be allowed access, glad that his request had not taken longer to process as he slides into the front seat and plucks his cap from his head, tossing it into the passenger seat beside him. The car's systems scan his features and before Spock has time to worry about an alarm system not recognizing him, the A.I. responds: 

"Hello, Commodore. Please state your destination." 

"Junipero Serra Elementary." Spock responds, adjusting the seat to fit his long legs, "Please proceed at the safest and swiftest speed under civic law." He instructs. 

"Estimated time of arrival: thirteen-thirty hours at a maximum speed of thirty-five miles per hour," the A.I. finishes, just as the car's other systems come online, the vehicle reversing out of its parking space and heading for the exit, drawing up to the guard booth. Spock depresses the brake manually and reaches into his pocket for his I.D. chip, flashing it to the guard who interrupts the energy field for him. 

All in all, it takes Spock less than thirty-two minutes to arrive at the school, his levels of anxiety over David's well-being urging him to take over the controls of the vehicle and pilot it himself. He parks the car in a public access lot on campus grounds, hastening out of the car and up the front steps to administrations, forgetting his hat. 

A woman behind a reception desk slides the old fashioned glass panel aside to speak with him as he approaches her and slides his hands over the counter space to steady himself. He calms the thundering in his side with a deep breath. "I am Commodore Spock. I was called concerning David Marcus-Kirk; I am his guardian." 

"Can I see some I.D., sir?" The woman asks, taking it from him once he provides one for her and scanning it into her system. She confirms who he is in less than a minute and depresses a button near her terminal. Spock hears a lock click open to his right and witnesses a side door opening with a buzz, kept ajar by some old-fashioned pressurized mechanism until he walks through into the back offices. The woman turns to him behind her desk, looking up past the edge of a bordering counter, "Mrs. Duvoe is expecting you in her office, just around that corner and at the end of the hall." 

"Thank you," Spock says curtly before turning away, his anxiety returning anew. If Mrs. DuVoe was who he thought he was, this issue could be rather serious and Spock's fears are confirmed when he turns the corner and spies a familiar figure sitting slumped in a small child's chair at the end of the hall. Spock's steps slow, but their noise is enough to alert David of his presence and the child lifts his head, peering over at Spock with sudden surprise. No doubt, the child hadn't expected him to be the one to collect him. 

"Spock..." David blinks, his expression twisting toward guilt and shame as Spock approaches him. He is no doubt experiencing some kind of disciplinary action since he sits alone, the guilty slope of his posture cluing Spock into the purpose of this visit. David did not appear to be ill or in any kind of danger, but simply in a spot of trouble. If the cut on his lip and cheek or the grazes along his right set of knuckles were anything to go by...Spock would have to say the issue revolved around some kind of violence. "Where's Dad?" 

"Your Father was unable to attend, so I have come in his stead." Spock glances toward the closed office door, a name placard beside it revealing the occupant to be Mrs. Debra DuVoe, Principal. Slowly, he lets his earlier worry pass from his mind and is dismayed to find it replaced with chagrin. It would seem that David had gotten into a fight. "What has happened, David?" Spock prompts the child, disregarding the tiny chairs lined up beside David in favor of simply squatting down in front of him, bracing his forearms along his knees and pinning David with a firm and inquisitive look. 

David looks away, unable to hold eye-contact with him, only reaffirming Spock's notions of his guilt. So David had started this altercation? "It was his fault...he shouldn't have made me angry." David mutters; his voice is subdued and Spock feels a pang of misplaced recognition at this scenario. Had he not also been in a similar situation, a victim of bullies and having a hard time suppressing his reactions and ignoring the way their words made him feel? Several of those Vulcan children’s faces still plague his memory and Spock can see them in his mind now, solemn and mocking figures standing at his back and calling him a coward, calling him _Human_. Back then, he had been ashamed. But now, he knew better than to take the name as an insult. Yes, he was Human, but he was also Vulcan. 

"Did you strike another child?" Spock asks, his eyes sliding down to view the scrapes on David's knuckles. The child shifts to hide the marks by tucking that hand between his knees, hunching his shoulders in his shame. 

"No..." David mutters, but Spock can sense the lie. 

"Tell me the truth, David." Spock murmurs, "You know that I will not grow angry, it is not my tendency to do so." He says, trying to reassure the child. 

David still looks wary, but begins to speak and Spock wonders if Jim has ever raised his voice to his son. Perhaps it was common practice, a parent venting their frustration or hoping to gain obedience from a shocked response, but to Spock there was no reason to lose his control in such a manner. "The volcano, Spock... it didn't go off right." David scowls, a flash of anger and frustration twisting his features, "I messed it up Spock, it went everywhere...it just kept going and going; the magma." He explains, unable to form his words into a linear pattern, struggling to get his thoughts ordered. "Joey said I was stupid... said the volcano was crap." 

Spock's eyes narrow at the expletive, but he refrains from remarking...for now. "Go on." He prompts. 

"Said I was a failure...said I couldn't even make a volcano right, that I was a failure...just like Dad." David's lips purse, but Spock can pick out a fine tremor about the child's mouth, and senses that David hangs in a precarious balance between anger and tears. Spock's heart goes out to David in that moment, knowing the emotions pertaining to such pain very well. To be studied by one’s peers and be found lacking is not unknown to him. 

"And you believed him?" Spock’s question seems to confuse David for a moment. 

"N-No...of course not!" David stammers, scowling, "but it still made me mad! Joey's project was _way_ more crap than mine!" 

Spock's brow twitches, "Please refrain from using profanity like that, David. Your father and I do not approve of it." 

David ducks his head, guilty again. "Sorry..." He mumbles, raising his head in a fit of pique once again, repeating earnestly, "but it really is! Joey's project was about sugar in soda pop. He just had a bunch'a bags of sugar showing which sodas are the worst for you!" He says, crossing his arms over his chest; annoyed. 

"This isn't about Joey's project though, David. This is about why you struck him...you _did_ strike him, didn't you?" Spock asks, watching David shift uncomfortably, eyes darting away down the hall. 

"He deserved it," David grumbles. 

"Be that as it may," Spock tips his head, endeavoring to catch David's eyes and winning a confused glance for his agreement, "but resorting to violence is never a logical way to solve disputes." 

"I _couldn't_ talk about it Spock, I was too mad!" David snaps, some of his anger bubbling up to the surface again, making Spock's temple throb at its sudden intensity. 

"David, I need you to calm down," Spock murmurs, reaching out to place his hand calmly over David's arm, stilling the child's tendency toward nervous energy and restlessness. "Resorting to violence makes you no better a person than he is." He explains, "He wanted a reaction out of you, and he got what he wanted...didn't he?" 

David's face drops, becoming sullen and tearful again, shifting his eyes away in embarrassment when Spock sees them glimmer with unshed tears. "It is better to ignore a bully than validate their claims with your actions. You want to do better than your classmate, don't you?" 

"Yeah," David nods. 

"Then you cannot allow yourself to become so incensed by the things he says when you know they are not true. I apologize for the state of your science project; I may be somewhat at fault for not warning you against tampering with the levels of solutions we used. But what has transpired cannot be changed and we, as scientists...can only learn from our mistakes. Correct?" Spock explains, hoping to appeal to the mature part of David. 

"Yeah... no matter what Joey says, I'm still a scientist." David grumbles, narrowing his eyes. 

"Indeed." Spock intones, arching a brow at the boy and withdrawing his comforting hand, lowering his mental shields a fraction as David calms. 

The door to the office clicks open and Spock looks up. David turns his head to watch as a familiar red-headed child stomps out of the room; his hands are balled into fists and he is trailed by a timid looking woman Spock assumes to be Mr. Joey's mother. Spock slowly rises to his full height again, looking at the woman clutching her purse in front of her and managing to look both intimidated and wary in the same moment as she reaches down and grips her son's shoulder to forestall his agitated steps. 

"Oh, hello...you must be-" The woman glares up at him, her gaze straying away, uncomfortable with his level stare.

"Commodore Spock, David's guardian," Spock remarks, glancing down at the freckled child now glowering at David; the boy’s lip is split and his left eye is already beginning to turn a muted shade of purple. However, when he notices Spock's subtle glare, the child has the intelligence to avert his eyes, his lower lip protruding in a most unseemly pout and an arrogant jut of his jaw.

"Of course," the woman frowns, "you were the captain of the _Enterprise_ I saw a thing about that on the holonews." She flaps her hand in a meaningless gesture and her son rolls his eyes disrespectfully beside her, complaining: 

"C'mon, Mom! I wanna go home..." Joey scowls, causing his lip to bleed anew. 

"Oh, yes...I know, just a minute Jo-" The mother begins, only to be cut off once again by her son raising his voice. 

"I wanna go now!" He barks, folding his arms angrily across his chest, appalling Spock with his behavior.

The display triggers some odd perverse urge in Spock and he finds himself desiring to shock the child, perhaps scaring him a little in order to encourage a lapse into obedient silence. Spock restrains himself, but just barely and when the mother begins digging aimlessly through her purse, no doubt for her keys or a tissue to blot her child's mouth with, Spock meets Joey’s eyes. Murky, flat brown eyes stare defiantly up at him and Spock allows a little of his disdain to slip over his features, hardening them to stone. All it takes for Joey to pale is for Spock to take a single, nearly imperceptible step in his direction, his dark eyes cold in their regard for the child. It lets Joey know that David is protected, that if he should harm David, Joey would be answering to Spock for his transgressions.

"M-Mom, quit it! Let's go!" Joey snaps, but his voice has lost most of its earlier bite and now sounds weak and fearful as he tugs on his mother's sleeve, dragging her a few steps away down the hall. 

"Joey, quit pulling!" The woman complains, but follows behind her son, only exacerbating his tendencies with her compliance. 

Spock turns away from the sickening scene, disliking the image of a negligent parent lacking proper disciplinary objectives. He finds David staring up at him with a smirk on his lips. Perhaps he had not been placing himself on the best display for the child, because David seems smug. "He's scared of you." David grins, making Spock purse his lips in disappointment. 

"No, he fears authority." Spock argues, his eyes lifting to take in the sight of a round, pant-suited woman hovering in the doorway of the office.

"Mr. Spock, David...please," She gestures toward the confines of her office, turning her body to allow them entrance and shutting the door behind them. David trudges over to slump down into one of the over-stuffed armchairs positioned before the principal's desk. Spock folds himself into the second chair and watches the woman slide behind her desk, judging her age to be hovering somewhere toward her mid-forties. Her oval face displays a short,wide nose and pinched lips, her cheeks appear a little too rouged. "Has David told you what happened this afternoon at the Science Fair, Mr. Spock?" 

"He has described to me the pertinent details." Spock agrees. 

"Then you know that David punched his classmate Joey in the face this afternoon, which resulted in a fight my staff had to break up. Now, we are aware of certain tensions between David and Mrs. Lannister's son; this is not the first altercation their teacher has had to intercede on. However, it is the first time David has grown violent in the face of some common school-yard teasing," Mrs. DuVoe explains. Something about her words do not sit entirely right with Spock. He quietly bristles at her dismissal of bullying to be nothing more than commonplace. 

"Perhaps David has been experiencing some stress at home lately? Something to disrupt his routines and make him feel agitated as of late?" Mrs. DuVoe questions, spreading her hands palm up across the surface of her desk in an open invitation to speak before folding them together again. 

Spock considers his words before speaking, turning his head to glance at David, who is seated next to him, looking away, his jaw working in a manner Spock finds eerily reminiscent of Jim's own tendencies toward annoyance. "Negative, Mrs. DuVoe...in fact, David has been rather content as of late. He was very much looking forward to this Science Fair; his project meant a great deal to him." Spock's lips thin, "and I cannot say that I can agree with your tendency to trivialize the behavior of David's classmate as being 'commonplace', for it implies that it is an acceptable behavior which this school supports." Spock watches the woman shake her head, no doubt about to backpedal across her own words. 

"In no way does this school condone the kind of behavior both David and Joey Lannister were displaying today. That is why we are taking disciplinary actions to correct this behavior and to ensure it does not happen again." Mrs. DuVoe explains, her red painted fingernails clicking against the surface of her desk nervously. 

"You are suspending the Lannister child for his behavior then?" Spock inquires, noting from the corner of his eye that David's head snaps up at his question, intently interested. 

"Actually, I am suspending _both_ boys from school for a period of three days to give them a chance to calm down and think about their actions. In the interim, it will be up to you to gather homework assignments from his teachers so he does not fall behind in coursework. He will also be required to write an apology to his classmate and to this school for violating our listed policies," the woman continues. Her words actually shock Spock for a moment and he blinks at her, wondering if he had heard her correctly. 

"I am...uncertain as to how you arrived at this judgement. I must argue the logic in your decision, how is depriving David or Mr. Lannister of the chance to continue learning and educating them a remedy for what has transpired today?" Spock frowns, leaning forward in his seat and regarding Mrs. DuVoe closely. Was she in her right mind? 

"It is school policy to suspend troublesome students, Mr. Spock. I'm sorry if this inconveniences you, but David must learn to behave better before he can return to his classes," Mrs. DuVoe explains, but Spock can pick out the fine sheen of sweat beginning to gather over her nervous upper lip. 

"This policy seems archaic, Mrs. DuVoe. Perhaps you might reconsider your decision. David is not a bad student, I have seen his grades; his work is exemplary. Perhaps he was antagonized by Mr. Lannister's words regarding his mistake this afternoon while setting up his project. Should he not be spared this severe punishment given that he was victimized by the harsh comments his classmate bestowed on him? He is a child, Mrs. DuVoe," Spock says, standing and placing his hand upon the edge of the woman's desk, towering over her. He doesn't exactly realize it, but he is acting rather akin to a protective mother bear, "children react to emotions far more erratically than most adults and I agree that they can only be held accountable for their actions once their error has been made known to them. David was acting out of defense, if not physically, then emotionally when Mr. Lannister took the liberty of openly ridiculing him before his peers." 

Mrs. DuVoe blinks up at him, her cheeks flushing an even deeper red beneath the rouge already smeared there. 

Spock lowers his arms to his sides again, saying, "This punishment will bring him more stress than the actual transgression. It will also only serve to cement in his mind that his bully's actions have been defended by his superiors rather than corrected. I find your judgement over this situation lacking; perhaps this school is not the best place for David to receive his education and guidance toward adulthood." 

The principal's eyes widen, glancing toward David as her levels of alarm and embarrassment rise, causing her stand to meet Spock's gaze more levelly, even though she is a good head shorter than he. "Joey Lannister was properly reprimanded as well for participating in violence on school grounds, believe me Mr. Spock. But kids will be _kids_ , and unfortunately it falls into the parameters of Mother Nature that the stronger pick on the weaker. Perhaps you ought to teach your charge how to guard himself better against the judgements of others." 

Spock feels the color drain from his face as an uncontrollable wave of rage sinks over his shoulders like a chilling weight, causing his blood to flash hot through his veins and the hairs along the back of his neck to prickle. His teeth click together as his jaw tightens and something in his eyes, perhaps a wild and predatory glare from his brown eyes, is enough to make Mrs. DuVoe take an unsteady step back from him. 

"Your words appall me, Mrs. DuVoe..." he murmurs, his voice thankfully steady but tight with the efforts to keep himself from reaching across the desk to physically assault such a dim-witted individual displaying such abhorrent behavior. "They are bigoted, insensitive, and _wrong_." He emphasizes, the twist of his words cruel and making Mrs. DuVoe flinch, her painted lips drawing back into a scowl. "How you have managed to keep such a position upon the school board here mystifies me, for you certainly lack the intelligence and empathy for such a job. David is not weak...and Joey Lannister is not strong. These children both need guidance of a nature you are not qualified to give. One lacks respect for authority, the other I admit does wear his heart on his sleeve. But should David be condemned for such sensitivity? I think not." 

Reaching back, Spock slips his hand behind David's shoulder, urging him out of his chair and drawing him into his side protectively, his fingers tightening on the child's shoulder. "This incident was, as far as I can ascertain, an act of jealousy and spite directed against David. How can I expect you to be responsible for these two boys, let alone a school full of children, given the way you have acted this afternoon? I will be submitting a formal complaint to the board of directors immediately. Good day, Mrs. DuVoe." He says coldly, bending down slightly to snatch David's limp hand in his and pull him gently away, leading the child out of the woman's office as she splutters and stammers behind them, gibbering in shock and anger. 

Out in the hall, Spock endeavors to walk quickly, but David stumbles beside him in his effort to keep up with shorter legs, so Spock stoops and swings the child up into his arms, balancing him against his hip. David's emotions are rioting against Spock's mental shields and with the child pressed close against him, his skinny arms wound around his neck and shoulders, Spock can pick up on the confusion, shock, and, strangely enough, awe radiating from his mind. They storm past the receptionist, who blinks up at them from behind her glass window at their abrupt departure. 

Outside, Spock pauses at the top of the steps and puts David down on his own feet again, crouching before him and gripping David's arms to garner his attention. "David," he squeezes the child lightly, making him blink but also making him focus on him, "I want to make it clear to you that what you principal was saying was wrong. She has no right to make judgements on you or the Lannister boy, for she lacks the proper empathy to understand the situation. She may consider Mr. Lannister's actions trivial, but I do not. I do not want you to feel persecuted by what she has done, I have watched your pain over the past week change your behavior and I will not stand for it. We have three days to figure an alternative out, but you will not be returning to this school." Spock says stiffly, "Not if I have any say in the matter." 

David's lips part wordlessly, eyes round at the intensity in Spock's tone, the commanding nature of his conviction that the child must have never expected to witness from him. Spock cannot find he feels guilty over it however, even if he would have preferred the conversation with Mrs. DuVoe to have gone differently, he cannot change people's hearts or opinions if they remain so closed off to understanding. Straightening up, Spock plants his hand squarely between David's shoulder blades and ushers him forward as they take to the steps, Spock deliberately slowing his pace to match David's as they walk toward the car. Just before they reach it however, David finds his voice: 

"B-But what about my stuff? My backpack...the model, it's all back there." David turns his head, regarding his school with a fretful expression. 

"I will call your father when we arrive at home, perhaps he will come to retrieve them." Spock soothes as he unlocks the vehicle and opens the back passenger door for David. In truth, Spock doesn't trust himself to return to the building calmly and without judgement. If he were to run into Mrs. DuVoe again, he cannot guarantee he will not incite another argument with her, even though the attempt at clearing her head of such stupid and harmful biases would be futile. It would seem this school's figurehead was indeed, a bully herself. He knew he would feel his horror over his emotions later, allowing himself to acknowledge the fact that no one had managed to trigger such a response out of him since...well, since Jim technically, but also not since his own suffering at the hands of his peers as a child. 

David pipes up from the backseat once they are halfway home, his voice timid and small, filled with his uncertainty, "Are you mad at me...?" 

Spock almost stops the car, almost slams on the breaks and parks it right on the side of the road as his stomach twists sickeningly at the child's question. Had David thought his disappointment to be directed at him? This was intolerable and horrifying, to think that he had slipped so far out of his calm nature to lead David to believe he was angered with him? Gathering his strength past the nausea in his stomach, Spock manages a short 'no' in reply, but he can feel how his answer does not comfort David. Perhaps he doesn't believe Spock. 

A few minutes later, Spock pulls the car into the garage, having to carefully maneuver it to fit against the Corvette while leaving enough space for Jim to park his vehicle inside later. Once he is out of the car, Spock waits for David to get out and places a comforting hand a top the child's head. "I am not aggravated with you David; I am simply appalled by your school's policies and the behavior of its leadership. I _am_ disappointed, however, that their negligence over the matter has caused you to act out in violence. I do not agree with your methods of responding to your abuser, but I do not fault you for them. Come and let me tend to your injuries," Spock murmurs, watching David's tense shoulders lower and relax again. Even if he may not have fully understood Spock's words, it seemed that his sincerity still reached the child on an emotional level. 

Upstairs, Spock places his hat on the dining room table on his way into the kitchen and David peels off from him to retreat into his bathroom down the hall. After collecting a bowl of ice water from the replicator on the wall, Spock joins him, setting the bowl on the edge of the tub and placing David's right hand into it. It would seem, by the damage to David's knuckles, that he had hit his bully several times at least and rather hard at that. 

David winces as the ice water stings his lacerated skin and Spock locates a med-kit from beneath the sink, opening it to reveal that Jim has had the foresight to upgrade it. He brandishes a dermal re-generator, the personal household model, and slides his fingertips under David's chin to lift his face up for better access. He slides the device over David's cheek, holding it in place as it works at knitting the flesh back together. "Hold this for me, please." Spock instructs David, withdrawing his hand as the child holds the device against his face while Spock leans back and slips his fingers into the med-kit, finding a numbing cream to help with the raw itchiness of David's newly regenerated flesh. He spreads the salve with one finger over David's cheek in the fresh, pink area of new skin and moves the device toward the split in the child's lip a moment later, David wincing as the machine works. "Since your school work isn't here, I suggest you read quietly in your room until your father arrives from work," Spock murmurs. David lowers his eyes in acquiescence. 

Removing David's right hand from the bowl of ice water, Spock snags the hand towel off the hook on the wall by the sink and wraps it gently around David's smaller hand, patting it dry. He is just reaching for the re-generator when David speaks, his words a little sluggish as a result of the numbing cream on his lower lip. "I didn't mean to hit him...honestly." 

"I see." Spock murmurs, "You simply reacted to provocation, sometimes we react before we can think properly David." Spock remarks as he slides the re-generator back and forth across David's broken skin, using the towel to prop David's hand up in his.

"I was just so mad..." David murmurs, guilt seeping into blue eyes, "and when I started it just...it just felt really _good_ , you know? To like...to make him pay for what he'd said." David mutters, gritting his teeth in memory of intense emotion. "To make him sorry for it." 

Spock sighs softly, spreading the cream with his thumb over David's small knuckles, "Unfortunately, individuals with an antagonistic personality such as your classmate's rarely feel regret for their actions. In some way, he most-likely feels his words were justified, and you will just have to put him from your mind, for he is not worth your anguish." Spock says gently, watching David's lips purse with displeasure. "You will simply have to learn how to ignore children like Joey Lannister. There will always be someone who you disagree with or who enjoys hurting others, it is the way of the world, David." 

"Were you picked on too, when you were a kid like me?" David asks, raising his eyes to meet Spock's as the Vulcan sets the medical supplies back into the med-kit. 

Taking a deep breath, Spock sets the kit aside and folds his hands loosely together in his lap, regarding David quietly seated next to him on the edge of the tub. "I was not readily accepted by my peers on Vulcan, no." He replies, lips thinning as he looks away, "they could not understand my differences in comparison to themselves and enjoyed pointing out my own failures as a Vulcan by presenting my human half in a bad light. I only later realized how...advantageous my mixed heritage truly is, but as a child, I was often met with scrutiny and deemed an outsider." 

David blinks at him, brows furrowing and Spock can feel a measure of sympathy reaching between them from the child, a feeling of understanding and kinship that hadn't been there before. Spock is momentarily confused; baffled by what he senses, especially since he and David are no longer touching one another for him to be receiving these emotions telepathically. Was there something more to consider between himself and this child, perhaps a strange bond he had not been aware of? 

"What did you do about it?" David asks, "To make them stop?" A frisson of hope opens up between them and Spock pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, considering his words and knowing how the hope in David will deflate once he speaks. 

"I did nothing. I shamed myself and my father by my actions, much like your own." David's eyes widen again at Spock's admission, his voice interrupting him suddenly: 

"You mean you punched a guy?" 

"I...grew violent, yes. I was blinded by my hatred of them, an emotion that greatly compromised me and only worked to shame me further. My father told me to ignore them, to cease feeling anything about them and pressed me to be more Vulcan, to not act upon any emotions I could not control." 

A weight rests against Spock's arm and when he looks down, it is to find David's head resting idly against him, both seeking and providing a modicum of comfort and Spock shifts his arm to drape it along the back of the child's shoulders, accepting him. "I was stronger for my decisions later in life, but bullies do not ever tire of trying to upset you, David. You just have to satisfy yourself by knowing you are better than their primitive nature by resolving not to react, not to take their meaningless words to heart. I realized that they were just as weak as I, for desiring to make their hatred of me known, and they were acting even more primitively than I was by seeking to provoke me." 

David's emotions twist like fire in the back of Spock's mind, a mixture of guilt, frustration, pain, and hopelessness. He sighs and slips out from under Spock's arm, standing up and turning to look at Spock, their eyes level with one another. "Thanks, Spock." He murmurs, gesturing lightly to his repaired features before dropping his eyes, "I'll try to...be better next time." 

Inclining his head in a solemn nod, Spock watches David retreat from the bathroom, lingering there himself, mind clouded with memories of his childhood on Vulcan. His only true friend had been his pet I-Chaya, her always listening ear and silent stares his only comfort. Amanda had tried to console him, had stood up for his actions to his father, but they were two aliens on another world, their tendencies toward emotion looked down on. 

Leaning forward, Spock slips his communicator out from his pocket and selects Jim's number. As much as he expects it, he still sighs when he only gets the voice messaging application, deciding that he will leave one for his partner in case the school had notified him to come and collect his son if he were able. "Jim, I have collected David from his school, he is here at home with me. He is functional, yet conflicted. If you have the time, you may need to stop off at his school to collect his things, and do not forget his science project...he may wish to keep it. I will explain the situation to you once you return home." 

Ending the transmission, Spock gets up and exits the bathroom, passing Snowy in the hallway as she lingers outside David's closed bedroom door, scraping lightly at the wood with her claws to be allowed entrance. Spock snaps his fingers at her, turning his steps to herd her back in the direction of the kitchen so David might be left alone for the time being. She yowls at him, displeased, but seems to forgive his actions when he refills her water dish at the sink. 

Heading upstairs, Spock retreats to the bedroom closet to change out of his uniform, hanging it up in exchange for a comfortable synthetic cashmere sweater in a deep blue and tan colored pants. He has only just returned to the kitchen, slicing up an apple when he hears the garage door downstairs turn over. A few minutes later, Jim steps into the house with David's book bag under his arm and his own strapped over his shoulder. Setting his things down at the breakfast table, he wipes a hand down over his face and heaves a long, weary sigh. "I only got your message once I was actually _at_ David's school, freaking out since he wasn't there..." 

"I apologize. I had not thought to call you until we were leaving. I should have considered your worries." Spock apologizes softly, meeting Jim in the center of the kitchen near the island counter top. Jim leans a hip up against it and drags a hand back through his hair, looking somewhat addled. 

"Its fine, his model is in the back of my car...but Spock, what happened?" Jim asks, concern drawing his brows together tightly. Their close proximity causes Jim's emotions to rattle across their link, making Spock wince. Jim had indeed been very upset, aggravated even, perhaps when he had realized too late that his son had needed him and he had been unable to heed the call from his school. There was also a strange weight of guilt in Jim and Spock refrained from pulling away from these negative feelings, deciding that he might act as a comfort to Jim and having his theory confirmed when his touch dispels some of the worst of his partner's lingering emotions. Spock's hand slides over the curve of Jim's shoulder, grounding his lover in the moment rather than in the frustrations of the past hour. 

"David was involved in an altercation at school between himself and another classmate." Spock begins, but it doesn't seem he is required to finish, because Jim grits out through his teeth: 

"That Lannister kid, I bet." 

"Indeed." Spock murmurs, "they have decided to suspend David and the other child for three days." He braces himself as Jim's emotions take a sudden turn, skyrocketing in anger and annoyance mixed with enough righteous injustice to cow a nation. 

"What?!" He roars, straightening up from his lean against the counter, his hand slapping down on the granite. "You're kidding me?!" 

"I am not." Spock says softly. Oddly enough, Jim's emotional outburst, even if expected, only acts to solidify Spock's calm even more. They are well matched, emotions complimenting one another. Though Spock still feels his earlier rage over the matter as well, Jim's reaction satisfies him in his knowledge that he had acted rightly, that his feelings were justified. It also helps, being a second party to the matter, that he can aid Jim in calming down, sending waves of calm across their link until Jim's shoulders sag forward. 

"Fucking _hell_ , Spock...that sort of thing goes on his permanent record you know?" Jim murmurs, visibly deflating and sinking into weariness.

Pursing his lips, Spock nods, "Indeed. Which is why I disputed it, I will be submitting a formal complaint to the board of directors for David's school district and demand there to be a change in the conduct involving altercations between children. Mrs. DuVoe-" 

"David's principal?" Jim interjects. 

Spock nods, "Was not very understanding of the proceedings and thought to compare the situation to 'common' happenings between peers. She seemed to have no qualms over sweeping this incident under the rug and justifying Mr. Lannister's actions as simply being 'what children do'." 

"She did not..." Jim murmurs in disbelief, a flash of flint and steel in his blue eyes as he glances up at Spock, his hand sliding to rest on his hip, posture ridged. 

"I, as well, found myself rather incensed at her judgements. It has led me to believe that perhaps David is not enrolled at a proper establishment if the problem of bullying is so terribly mishandled there." Spock's eyes narrow. 

"Jesus Christ..." Jim huffs, turning away to pace the length of the kitchen, a common outlet for his frustration that Spock has witnessed on numerous occasions and finds somewhat...endearing, if not familiar. "What the hell did that kid even say?" He asks, spreading his hands in a gesture of confused indignation. 

"Perhaps you ought to ask David that yourself, he is in his room." Spock murmurs, his suggestion making Jim slump back against the edge of a counter again, bracing his hands back behind him on the lip of the cabinets. 

"Hold on...gimme a minute, I can't face him when I'm like this," Jim whispers, dragging in a deep, calming breath. Spock moves smoothly across the kitchen to join him again, lifting two affectionate fingers toward his partner in an effort to unite them as a single front, supporting one another. Jim returns the gesture with a weak smile, though his eyes are still pained as he tips forward and slides his arms around Spock's shoulders, embracing him. 

"I'm sorry you had to get pulled out of work for this...if Professor T'Mal didn't make us leave our communicators in our lockers on site I would have gotten the message sooner." He says, tone dripping with exhaustion that weighs Spock's very bones down, making him prop his chin down on Jim's shoulder. 

"It was no terrible inconvenience. I was just as alarmed by the call I received as you would have been. I am only glad that I was not in a meeting that would have not permitted me to leave." Spock straightens as Jim pulls away, some of his partner's weariness receding. 

"I'd hate to think about what would have happened if you weren't around, they would have had to call," he squints, grimacing, "Christopher Pike." He shrugs at Spock's arched brow, "I made him the third and final contact on David's records only because I'd rather have Pike assume responsibility over David than my mother. He's only been the third contact for the past few months though, administration kept pestering me to provide them with another responsible party for David. I think they do it out of some policy given that I'm a single parent. Or, I was..." Jim's lips twitch a little, affection pooling beneath the rest of his overlapping emotions, turning them bittersweet. 

"I...do not know if I deserve such a title as 'parent', given the duration of my absence from David's life." Spock frowns. 

Jim scoffs, "Spock, I was absent from his life for the first four years, I've got one year up on you and at least you communicated with him over the last three years. Sometimes, I think you're better parenting material than _I_ am." 

Spock turns and hands Jim the plate of cut apples, "We may have differing styles in handling issues, but that does not make one of us a better parent. Go to him, Jim. Speak with him...he was very emotionally disturbed when I went to collect him this afternoon." 

Nodding, Jim sighs and takes the plate, thanking Spock softly and leaning up to lightly press his lips over Spock's, the feeling of affection blooming like heat across their link at the gesture before he is withdrawing and turning from the room. Spock ends up in the living room, attending to some messages received on his PADD and getting in touch with Yeoman Nelson via her new contact information sent to him that morning. Her message comes through a second later: 

_'I am glad that everything is alright and that you will be returning to work tomorrow, sir. When you rushed out of here, I didn't know what to think, but I can understand family taking precedence over everything else. I will see you at 0800 hours tomorrow morning, sir.' - signed Brittney Nelson; Yeoman._

Spock sets his PADD aside on the sofa and glances out the window at the late afternoon sunlight peeking past the roofs of neighboring houses, casting various patterns of light and shadow over all the furniture. He had hesitated to say anything at all to his Yeoman, but if she was going to assume responsibility for aiding him in all matters of work, and in personal life as well if Christopher Pike's words were anything to go by, he was going to need her to know that he had other responsibilities which he held in higher regard than Starfleet orders. Rather than her prodding him for details or making over the fact that he had a child and partner, as he had been worried about earlier that day, she had been professional and polite, even understanding and Spock appreciated it. Perhaps this working relationship would end up being beneficial to him after all. 

Jim trudges out from the hallway a few minutes later, sinking down onto the sofa beside Spock with a grunt and a long breath blown out through pursed lips. "Well, that was probably one of the most aggravating conversations I've had all day, and I'm surrounded by scientists and engineers all day." Jim mumbles, reaching for Spock's PADD and transferring it to the coffee table, giving him more room to maneuver himself down across the cushions until his head can rest across Spock's thigh. Their eyes meet and Jim folds his hands together over his chest, blue eyes wounded and defensive. "I can't believe what that little-" He winces and cuts himself short, refusing to sound petulant when talking about another parent's kid. Shaking his head, Jim closes his eyes. "I hate how kids seems to know just the right buttons to press with my kid." 

"I do as well," Spock responds, shifting his hand from where it was propped beneath his chin, elbow on the arm of the sofa, to slip his fingers back through his partner's hair. "However, we cannot protect him from everything and perhaps he will learn and grow stronger from this encounter." 

"I guess a sheltered life is worse than an unsheltered one...doesn't make me like it though," Jim grumbles, humming softly and sighing again as Spock soothes him, much like Spock has soothed the feline before, in caressing the curve of Jim's skull, smoothing his hair. "But I think I'm angrier about what you said the principal was saying. Tell me exactly what happened there, I need to know." Jim says, frowning and opening his eyes, listening as Spock explains in great detail what had transpired during his exchange with Mrs. DuVoe. When he finishes, Jim shifts to sit up again and shakes his head, appalled. 

"How the fuck did that lady get to be principal?" Throwing up his hands, Jim gets up, pacing toward the window. "Alright, enough of this, if I continue to think about this shit I won't sleep tonight. Would it," Jim glances back over his shoulder at Spock, uncertainty plain on his face, "do you think it would be bad parenting if we took David out to dinner tonight? You know, make him think hitting his classmates is alright and all?" Jim grimaces. 

Spock shakes his head in a denial, levering himself up off the sofa and dragging his sleeves back down from his elbows, having pushed them up earlier while attending to his messages, "I do not believe he would arrive at that conclusion, given my earlier conversation with him. He understands what he has done is wrong, but also he understands that his classmate is also wrong...I believe he is simply conflicted on what to do from now on, when the Lannister child verbally attacks him in the future." 

" _Coward_...picking on someone smaller than him, someone smarter than him," Jim mutters, anger threatening to bubble up across their link anew. Spock forestalls it, his hand a heavy and reassuring weight on the back of Jim's neck, causing his partner to turn and face him. 

"Perhaps it would be best if he forgot the events of this afternoon," Spock murmurs, "all three of us, in fact, could use some simple distraction." 

Jim nods, "Yeah, you could be right. Fuck it, let’s go," Jim huffs, flapping a hand up in the air in a gesture of abandonment before turning to walk back down the hall, raising his voice for his son, "David, let's go get some dinner! Get your shoes on!" 

Spock picks up his PADD, taking it into the kitchen and picking up his hat off the dining room table on his way through, setting these items together on the kitchen counter next to the docking stations for his and Jim's various devices. He plucks Jim's communicator from the dock, handing it to his partner when he returns to go upstairs and change out of his uniform, steps heavy. "How about Chinese?" 

"Chinese is an adequate choice," Spock replies, following his partner up to their room to ready themselves for an evening of forgetting... or perhaps, for healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	10. Live Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we meet Professor T'Mal as problems and secrets begin to crop up around Jim and Spock. They seek solace in one another in some rare time alone together, sinking into the comfort of a meld and their burgeoning bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I suck at summaries, but I'd really hate to ruin any surprises in this chapter. There are really no trigger warnings for this one, it's pretty straight forward (aside from the little mysteries). I really hope you guys enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it, even as long as it took me to get things right. 
> 
> As always, I'd love to thank my lovely beta reader for her tireless support of me and my writing. Thank you so much [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate)! You've been a big help with answering my questions and pointing out inconsistencies in the plot for me. I really appreciate it. I hope this chapter reads smoothly after my final edits. =]
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who gave me shout-outs over the past week and let me know how much they are enjoying this fic, it really meant a lot to put some faces to some of my readers and it gave me good boost of inspiration. So I really appreciate it guys, you're the best!
> 
> I wrote this chapter with no particular song in mind until I heard [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjgnOP8f5NU) song over the Youtubez. It is entitled _'Livewire'_ by **Oh Wonder** and is really beautiful. I hope you guys check it out and give it a listen, who knows, you might like it. Heaven knows there are a lot of 'live wires' in Jim and Spock's lives at current. (Haha, see what I did there...)

Looking up from her desk, Yeoman Nelson blinks in surprise and confusion when someone brushes past the glass door leading to Commodore Spock's offices. The Commodore had no scheduled appointments on his agenda this late in the day. The person she sees, however, causes her to drop her stylus and stand to face a legend of Starfleet. Captain James T. Kirk, or was it Lieutenant now? "M-Mr. Kirk!" She chirps, embarrassed at how her voice sounds in this moment; too high and too cheery. _Tone it down, Brittney..._

Blue eyes flash up from the man's PADD, evidently just as shocked as she at seeing someone else in Commodore Spock's offices. "Uh, hey...you must be Yeoman Nelson." Kirk's lips curve up into a smile and Brittney braces her fingertips along the surface of her desk, steadying herself and thinking he was just as handsome as the holofeeds showed him to be. If rumors as well as public photos snapped of the former Captain and Commodore Spock were to be believed, the two seemed to be in a relationship. If Kirk knew about her, that had to mean the Commodore had mentioned her to him, which made her smile; flattered.

"I am, Yeoman Brittney Nelson, it's really nice to finally meet you." Holding a hand outstretched across the counter, she feels her cheeks heat when Kirk shakes it in a firm grip. "How is your son?"

The question seems to throw the man for a moment, but he recovers quickly. Perhaps he isn't yet used to the notion of his son's existence being common knowledge these days. "He is well, thank you," Kirk nods, smoothing a hand down the front of his grey and red Engineering jumpsuit. They both pause awkwardly, their eyes falling away from one another as the pool of conversational topics seems to shrink. Brittney makes a mental note to do a little more practical research on James Kirk.

"Is uh, Spock in?" Kirk's eyes squeeze shut and he waves a hand dismissively through the air, "I mean, is the Commodore in his office?" He smirks, making Brittney grin in reply.

"He is, just got back from his final meeting of the day, sir." She responds, turning as Kirk steps toward the closed door to Commodore Spock's office.

"How's his mood?" Kirk asks with a wry glance cast her way as he passes her desk.

"Honestly, Mr. Kirk, I wouldn't know." Brittney flushes. It was difficult to gauge her new boss' mood, not from a lack of trying, but because Commodore Spock wasn't exactly an open book. More like an old tome you had to translate into Latin, then German, and then English again just to understand. "Do you require anything? Tea, coffee?" She offers as Kirk pauses outside the office door, his hand on the knob.

"Naw, I'm good, thanks. And it's just Jim, I'm not here on formal business, Yeoman Nelson." He says with a parting smile before ducking into the Commodore's office, leaving Brittney to sink back into her desk chair and ruminate.

In her head, she couldn't fully imagine it, Commodore Spock pairing himself with such a bright, energetic, emotive human being. Then again, if she thought back to the interviews done after the Narada Incident, both former Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Commander Spock had seemed comfortable, or at least cordial to one another. It made her curious, wondering what had gone on in those intervening years to transition them from the outward appearance of friendship...to being a couple. Perhaps she was being too darn romantic about the whole thing, but no matter which way she spun it, three years was a long time. If they had already been in a relationship before that split, she could only imagine how eagerly they had reunited upon the Commodore's return from space.

Smiling to herself, Brittney returns to her console, composing an email on Spock's behalf to remind certain science department officials of their upcoming meeting on Monday. He hadn't asked her to, but if her email would mean everyone would show up in a punctual fashion, it was the least she could do.

/OoO\

Poking his head around the edge of Spock's door, Jim feels a warm smile curl his lips. Spock is seated behind his desk and looks up when he enters the room, though Jim really shouldn't have expected him to be surprised; he had probably heard Jim and the Yeoman talking outside for five minutes already. "Hey," Jim grins, letting the door fall shut behind him. He turns a slow circle around the center of Spock's office, looking around him at the sparse decor and utilitarian furniture. "Thought I'd uh, drop by, see where you work." He explains, setting his PADD down on the edge of Spock's desk and gazing fondly at him from over the Vulcan's terminal screen.

"I am almost finished for the day," Spock offers, his eyes returning to his screen, but not before Jim catches a flicker of affection in them.

"I think I scared your Yeoman." Jim says with a smirk, shifting around the desk to brush his hand along the back of Spock's seat. He glances at the terminal screen, then looks away when he notices Spock is skimming a report. "I've got a surprise for you, actually." He says, turning to lean his hips up against the edge of Spock's desk, folding his arms across his chest and regarding his partner with a keen glance. "David asked me if he could stay the night at one of his friends’ house this morning, so I packed him a bag and took him there this evening on my way over here. We are officially kid-less for tonight."

One of Spock's perfect brows lifts, making Jim's grin widen, "Have you formed plans for our evening?" His fingers tap idly at the keys of his terminal, foregoing a recorded message in reply and multitasking, his head canted slightly in Jim's direction as he speaks.

"Actually, that's what I came here to talk to you about." Looking down, Jim continues before he can take the chance to back out of his decision, "I talked to Professor T'Mal on Wednesday, told her you were interested in meeting her, one scientist to another, you know?" Jim lifts his shoulder in a lazy shrug, "She told me she would be free to meet with us this evening, what do you say?"

Spock's fingers come to a slow halt on his terminal keys, finally withdrawing after a few final _clicks_ to rest in his lap, his chair swiveling so he can meet his partner's eyes. "That would be most agreeable." He says, and Jim cannot mistake the glimmer of determined attention stealing over those brown eyes. It sends a little shiver down his spine, a feeling he hadn't experienced since working aboard the _Enterprise_ with the Vulcan.

Smirking, Jim leans forward and braces his hands down on the armrests of Spock's office chair, bringing his face close to his partner's, "Then I thought we could go to dinner..." Spock lifts his chin, his carefully controlled expression wavering a bit, his eyes softening. Jim licks his lips, causing those brown eyes to shift down to observe the action. "Lebanese?"

Before Spock can confirm or deny his partner's suggestion, Jim presses their mouths together in a kiss, noses brushing together intimately. A flicker of both heat and annoyance prickles at the back of Jim's neck, an odd transference of emotions from the Vulcan through their link. When he pulls back, leaning up out of Spock's space, there is a decided flush on the Vulcan's cheeks that makes Jim grin. "What? Honestly, I'd like to do far more to you in this private office, but I think I'd shock your sensibilities." He chuckles, and one of Spock's slender brows arches, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Such acts would not only be inappropriate here but also violating-" Spock begins, but Jim cuts him off at the pass.

"Yeah, I know." He smirks, "but who's to say I can't fantasize?" He lets his gaze sweep over his lover's seated form, his keen observation not going unnoticed and causing Spock's cheeks to go jade once more. Gleefully, Jim passes his partner his hat from across the desk and turns away, heading for the door. "Unfortunately, if we don't leave now, we might miss her. I wanted you to see where I'm working, even if you'll only be seeing our outer offices. Might put some of your crazy fears to rest."

Spock stands from his desk, collecting his personal PADD and tucking both it and his hat beneath his arm, following Jim. "You cannot deny the logic in my concerns about you working on a classified project, James." He argues, catching the edge of the door as Jim opens it and slides through.

"No, but I can at least convince you that Professor T'Mal is harmless...not to mention, how very uninvolved I really am in this. I mean, Spock," He turns to regard his partner, forcing him to come to a halt just before the Yeoman's desk, "I'm only building the outer casing for this thing, it's not like I'm doing test runs and trials. I build it," he shrugs, "hand the whole thing over to the professionals and watch _them_ blow shit up. Besides, Professor T'Mal made it sound like I wouldn't be needed by the end of the month anyway. I'll be done with this whole thing before my birthday probably," Jim scoffs, rolling his eyes and whirling around, stalking toward the door to the main hall.

"Are you finished for this evening, Commodore?" Yeoman Nelson asks, rising from her seat and addressing Spock, distracting the Vulcan from whatever he had been about to say.

"Affirmative," Spock says, inclining his head, the gesture infused with more weariness than it had been a moment earlier. "You may retire for the night. We will meet again on Monday."

"Yes, sir." Yeoman Nelson smiles slightly, but her uncertain gaze flickers to regard Jim across the waiting room and Jim cannot help but feel he is being re-evaluated. Like she was seeing a part of him he didn't normally display for the public. It made Jim's skin itch, Spock's eyes shift to regard him curiously as a little of that discomfort bleeds into him through their connection.

They leave Central Command together, Jim's pace a little more clipped than it ought to be and Spock's shoulders tense as he walks beside him. Out in the parking lot, Jim relays the address to the research compound to Spock so he can follow behind him in his brand new coupe, but before he can turn away, Spock's fingers wrap around the sleeve of his jumpsuit. "James," Spock's tone is heavy, the curve of his lips turned down at the corners, small tells that cast light onto Spock's veiled thoughts for Jim, "I believe I should enlighten you to the fact that this meeting may determine certain...actions I may be forced to take."

Jim blinks, confused. "What are you talking about?" He asks, frowning and sliding his arm out from Spock's grasp.

Spock straightens, positioning his arms behind his back, PADD and hat in hand. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, it shows in the restraint evident throughout his body, the tightness around his eyes and lips. If he is going to elaborate, the decision to do so seems to be suddenly aborted after brown eyes spend a moment studying his face. Whatever Spock sees there makes him think twice, and brings shutters slamming down behind his eyes, their link carefully muted until Jim almost can't even feel him there in the back of his mind. It makes Jim's blood run cold. Spock is... _afraid_. Afraid of what, though Jim cannot say. 

"Spock," Jim whispers, sidling in to stand closer to his lover and resting his hands on the Vulcan's arms whose muscles are taut beneath his fingers, "I promise you...everything is going to be fine. In another two weeks, maybe less...I'll be off the project and have my money." Jim's shoulders roll in a shrug, "so stop worrying about this. Nothing is going to happen in two weeks. She isn't even going to be starting trial runs of this thing until June."

Rather than look relieved, Spock turns his eyes away and gently pushes Jim's hands down, angling his head forward into his hat and adjusting it's fit against his skull with one short jerk of his hand. "I shall follow behind you to the compound, Jim," he dismisses, leaving Jim standing on the sidewalk watching after him as he turns away, heading for his car.

/OoO\

Climbing into his new Chevy Coupe XL3, Spock tips the hat from his head and sets both it and his PADD down in the passenger seat. He relays the address Jim had given him to the A.I. program, watching the destined route map out across the system's screen to his right. Sitting there, he waits a moment, giving Jim time to get back to his car and be the first to depart. However, his mind strays rebelliously despite his best efforts. He had been about to tell Jim the whole situation, had opened his mouth to explain the conversation he and his father had had earlier that week but he realized turning toward his partner to even speak had been a mistake.

This project meant a lot to Jim, this single project was something he had been working hard on for months now and had taken pride in until Spock had begun to cast shadows of doubt into Jim's mind regarding the matter. The chance to do something good for the world again, to really find meaning and excitement in and be passionate about his work; it was exactly what Jim had craved for over four years now. To take that passion and meaning away from Jim by exposing these possibly unfounded worries and putting Jim in a position of having to choose between pacifying him or moving ahead with conviction and pride in something he believed in was not a situation Spock wanted to place his partner in. 

However, it was quite obvious that Jim knew something he wasn't letting on; hadn't fully explained to Spock. He had mentioned something last week about 'creating new life', about fixing problems, colonizing new planets. It was all a wonderful idea, a great possibility. That is, if it were true. This _Genesis Project_...could it be a wolf in sheep's clothing?

Pursing his lips, Spock reaches for the steering wheel of his vehicle, piloting it out of its parking spot. Jim's sedan is nowhere to be seen, already having departed for the compound with, no doubt, a confused and silently fuming human behind the wheel. Spock already regretted even mentioning this problem to Jim; if he hadn't opened his mouth and created these uncertainties to begin with, perhaps Jim wouldn't have been about to react so emotionally a moment ago. Spock had seen it, the licking flames in those blue eyes that were always triggered when Jim was about to start an argument. He had abruptly aborted the conversation, perhaps not only to forego engaging in verbal sparring with Jim in public, but to protect himself from those battering emotions already lurking beneath the surface in Jim. 

Was Jim aware of the possible danger around this project? Was he simply denying it, forestalling a reaction he wanted to avoid? If Jim knew of a danger and wasn't telling Spock...what was he planning on doing about the matter? Nothing?

These thoughts made Spock a little ill however, so he forced them down, shoved them aside to meditate on later. If Jim was hiding knowledge from him about this project, a fact that Spock was already over ninety percent certain of, would it be wrong of Spock to pry past those defended secrets? He didn't want to invade Jim's professional privacy on the matter, the thought of even forcing that information out of Jim, even for his own safety; caused bile to gather at the back of Spock's throat, the taste sour and acidic.

No, if he was going to figure out what was going on behind this _Genesis Project_ , he was going to have to collect that information on his own, not through Jim and their bond. Not only would it destroy whatever trust he and Jim had begun to fashion between them again, but it would also violate every principle he had been raised with as a child. The thought of doing so was completely abhorrent to him, and with Jim's stubbornness, simply asking him would not get the results he desired either. If Jim were censoring himself now, any answer he would give Spock would also be heavily redacted.

It takes a thirty minute drive out of the heart of the city for Spock to arrive in the industrial outskirts of town, just as it takes Spock thirty minutes to fully wrestle the tangle of his earlier emotions into some semblance of control. If he is to be honest with himself, he would have appreciated the chance to meditate and gather himself and his thoughts together before meeting Professor T'Mal. But as the fates would have it, it seemed he would be introduced to the Vulcan not only on unfamiliar ground, but on uncertain footing with his partner. He and Jim had had their share of arguments over the years, but never anything so fraught with tension and fear. Anger, yes. Frustration, of course. But never this lurking fear that made Spock react irrationally.

The parking lot outside the compound isn't particularly full at this hour of the evening, so Spock pilots his vehicle into a spot across from Jim's parked sedan. His partner waits for him outside his car, leaning up against the rear panel with his arms crossed. However, his defensive posture melts when Spock steps out to join him, blue eyes charged with guilt flickering up at him. "Hey, listen..." Jim begins, a hesitant awkwardness in his voice, causing his words to linger in uncertainty, "I shouldn't have talked the way I did back there." Jim says it with a soft sigh, a fretful hand reaching up to run through golden hair.

"You have every right to be worried, you're my partner and I know you care about me and you're only thinking about David and I, and I can understand you might think I've put myself and my son in some kind of jeopardy over taking this job. But Spock," Jim's shoulders drop, his hand falling from his hair to hang loosely at his side, "I've just been so tired of all the 'safe' jobs. The little upgrades, the replicator refits, the remodeling... it gets tedious. I wanted," he winces, "adventure, I guess. So when this cropped up and the Professor let me know she was interested in a person with my skill set, I couldn't turn it down. Not with a chance like _this_ , Spock. If she can truly accomplish what it is she's working on here, we could be looking at a new way of life, and not life as we would know it."

Spock isn't impervious to his partner's imploring words; he feels the tug of Jim's guilt and desperation across their link like an itch he cannot possibly scratch. It makes him shift his feet along the asphalt, dropping his gaze to be free of the beseeching blues pinning him in place. "I-" he begins, only to be interrupted as Jim drops his voice to a soft murmur, stepping into Spock's space to turn their conversation private.

"And I know I shouldn't have called you out on things like 'fear' and what not, I know it's not exactly easy to be admitting you're concerned. But I can _feel_ it in you sometimes, the worry. I should have respected your right to privacy concerning the more intimate knowledge given to me across our link. I'm sorry, Spock...can we just put that whole conversation behind us?" Jim asks, lifting a hand to curl behind the curve of Spock's elbow, tugging at him slightly, "besides, in a minute or two, you'll see you've nothing to worry about anyway. C'mon." A hesitant smile lifts Jim's lips a fraction just before he drops his hand from Spock, taking the lead down the path leading up to the gated compound.

On the other side of the closed gate, Spock can glimpse a few vehicles, most of which seem to be of a model used by industrial factories; little three wheeled cars with short flat-beds in back for hauling materials about the premises. But amongst these vehicles are a few civilian model cars and Spock poses a question as they pause outside the walls encircling the compound, Jim rifling through his pockets for his I.D. chip. "James, is it necessary for a compound of this moderate size to have two parking lots?"

"Professor T'Mal didn't want delivery trucks to park inside the compound because of some of the hazardous materials they were transporting. So they park out here and walk everything in to receiving for us on anti-grav hand-trucks." Jim explains, swiping his chip through the card reader. The security seems simple enough, but as both Jim and Spock slip past the opening gate, Spock notes the cameras. He also notes the guards posted at a secondary checkpoint outside the main building.

Taking a slow glance around, Spock notes three major buildings on the compounds site, the main, building B, being in the center, while two other facilities, buildings A and C, sit to the left and right, glass-enclosed hallways connecting each facility to the main. Spock can only begin to theorize their uses from the outside, but it would seem the center building is the main warehouse, the large rolling doors at it's front now closed during the off hours of business. 

Jim leads him toward the smaller building on the left and they walk up a path carved out of the dirt and gravel with wooden planks, small shrubs and other such innocuous greenery dotting the natural spaces on their way up to the glass door of Building A. Jim utilizes his I.D. chip once more and they both watch the lock cycle from red to green; a loud buzzer signalling their entrance as Jim yanks the heavy door open and holds it ajar for Spock to follow him in.

Building A is cool and sterile, the walls a matte grey without any features of note that Spock can observe as he and Jim emerge into a long hallway with a set of stairs leading to a second floor to their right. "My office is down that way," Jim points straight ahead, though Spock cannot begin to pick out which office he might have meant amongst the many doors lining the hallway. "Lunch room, rec area, bathrooms..." Jim mumbles as they take to the stairs, Spock trailing behind, "see, Spock? She treats us humanely." Jim smirks, causing Spock to cast him a sharply cynical look.

"I had no doubt you were being provided with basic needs while working here, James." Spock murmurs, but he pitches his voice low as they arrive on the second floor. Up here, it is a much more open concept with wood paneling along one side of the wrap-around hallway encircling the entire outer perimeter of the second floor. The other side sports continuous panes of glass interrupted only by the conjuncting glass enclosed walkway leading off to Building B. Spock can see the entire panoramic view of the compound through these glass windows and he pauses to observe, but the compound is quiet. Everyone but the two of them and the guards seem to have gone home for the evening, or at least that is how it appears.

"Spock." Jim's voice jostles Spock from his observing, making him turn to regard his lover already ten paces away, his fingers poised over an electronic call button outside a closed office door. "You coming? Or shall we star gaze?"

Pursing his lips, Spock abandons his vigil at the windows and joins his partner outside what appears to be the door to the Professor's offices. Jim depresses a button on a panel hinged on the wall and speaks into the receiver. "It's Kirk." Jim says, releasing the call button in time for the return reply.

"Come." A distinctly female voice bids them entrance, though Spock notes the deeper tone, the rumbling timbre of an alto voice he hadn't thought to match with the face of Professor T’Mal which he had already committed to memory.

This time, it is Jim who hesitates, even as the door slides back to allow them entrance he pauses at the threshold long enough for Spock to reach out and lightly nudge his partner in the center of the back. Jim stiffens at the contact but marches forward with the same clipped and efficient pace Spock now recognizes as not only his former Captain's habit, but a defense mechanism in Jim Kirk. Whatever reason he feels he must defend himself in this moment, Spock cannot begin to fathom.

Across the room, a head crowned with a sleek, curved cap of brunette hair lifts to reveal the severe and angular features of Solen T'Mihn, T'Mal. Her eyes are a deep brown, almost black in fact, and Spock recognizes kinship in them though they are as flat and devoid of emotion as Spock expects them to be. Perhaps they are _too_ flat, too restrained. 

"Mr. Kirk," her voice resonates in the wide office, the tall ceiling above her swallowing up her words and echoing them back like the voice of a God. A God who has seen great pain, though. Jim may not notice it, but Spock notes the flicker of something in the very pinpricks of those pupils. "And Commodore, it is an honor." Professor T'Mal greets them, rising from behind her desk in one graceful fluid motion, her fingertips poised on the edge of her vast, meticulously organized glass desk.

"Tonk'peh, Professor," Spock greets, lifting his hand, the fingers of his right hand splitting down the center in the traditional greeting. The Professor returns the gesture, inclining her head in such a regal fashion that Spock has a moment to regard her poise. She doesn't exactly seem unstable, aside from the flicker of unguarded emotion he had noted in her gaze upon their entering, but perhaps she was simply not used to entertaining guests. His theory is proven correct when the three of them all hesitate, Jim shuffling nervously and pushing his hands into the pockets of his engineering jumpsuit.

T'Mal's gaze flickers toward Jim; a glance that Jim only meets for half a second before he's looking away, gesturing to Spock abruptly. "I'm sure you already know but Spock here was actually a professor at Starfleet Academy for a while as well," he mentions, effectively breaking the undefined tension that had been coiling between the three of them like a viper. Or perhaps the tension he felt was simply Spock throwing the shade of his own imagination over this meeting. He would endeavor to give this woman the benefit of the doubt, after all...she wasn't making a bad impression so far.

"Indeed," T'Mal's eyes lower toward her desk before she slips around it toward the wood paneled wall, to a replicator stationed there. Her Vulcan robe whispers as she moves, "It is unfortunate that you received your new commission before we could meet. I began teaching there shortly after you departed for space, Commodore." She explains, "May I interest either of you in a beverage?"

Spock notices Jim curling his top lip into his mouth, biting it between his teeth in a nervous fashion that makes Spock even more wary. There is an undercurrent of something here, something that has Jim acting skittish, and Spock's instincts go on high alert. "I'll take a scotch. It's the least offensive liquor that thing can handle." Jim comments, motioning toward the replicating machine T'Mal puts the order into. Her eyes slide toward Spock with the same query.

"Just water, thank you," Spock replies, watching as the tray appears in the lower slot of the machine, T'Mal lifting it and joining them in the center of the room. Jim snags his glass of scotch and Spock retrieves his glass as well, bringing it to his lips while discretely noting T'Mal's own choice of drink; Vulcan mocha. It is a semi-sweet, coffee like beverage that steams as she wraps her fingers around it then turns to set the tray down on the edge of her desk.

"It is true, replicators cannot master the finer nuances of such a beverage, Mr. Kirk, yet you prefer to consume it anyway," T'Mal points out, casting her employee an arch look that makes Spock shift on his feet. As little as Jim says he speaks with T'Mal, it would seem there is some kind of rapport here he hadn't been expecting. It is as if T'Mal is stating a fact she knows well; her words cause Jim to shrug, though he still will not meet her eyes.

"Unfortunately," T'Mal continues, picking up on their earlier topic as if it had not been abruptly ended, "I am no longer able to teach at the Academy. This project has become rather...all consuming of my free time, as of late."

Spock notices the way she speaks, as if she has meshed her normal speaking patterns with that of human tendencies, using pointless remarks or embellishments to her words. Perhaps she was trying to conform to a more acceptable image to place her mostly human employees in a position of comfort when speaking with her, but the end result only seemed to make Jim twitchy. Spock observes the way his partner's pointer finger taps idly against his half empty glass.

"A lot of research to be done, experimenting..." Jim comments, both his words and his gaze shifting to Spock and away from the secret spot he had been regarding on the floor between them.

"I believe you hold a degree in Astrophysics, do you not, Commodore?" T'Mal inquires, seeming to dismiss Jim's comment.

"I do," Spock replies, "therefore I am rather interested in the concepts of your project."

T'Mal's expression flickers a little, a barely restrained emotion Spock can only label as shock passing through her dark eyes as they wander down to her cup before looking at him again. It only takes a second, but his words cause her composure to slip and Spock's fingers tighten around his water glass a little. "You have heard the specifics then?"

Spock glances at Jim, who stiffens, the line of his jaw hard like steel, teeth clenched. But when Spock looks to T'Mal, she isn't looking at Jim, she is staring at him. "I have not. I know only that James is very honored to be a part of your project and feels it will bring great change to the Federation if successful." Spock side-steps the confrontation, watching some of the hard scrutiny melt from T'Mal's eyes as she seems to relax. Her project was top secret, and with Spock only holding the position of Commodore, the only other way he could have gleaned knowledge about her project was from Jim. Of course that would be her first suspicion. Was she aware that the Vulcan Ambassador was looking into her activities?

"It will be successful, gentlemen," T'Mal says, lacing her fingers together around her cup of steaming mocha, "we begin testing in only two weeks and three days."

"That soon? I thought you weren't testing until June," Jim inquires, surprised.

"We are ahead of schedule and I do not wish to waste time or money. The sooner we can prove the device works, the sooner Starfleet will grant us permission to install it into a ship for stage two of testing." T'Mal explains, "besides, I have seen your blueprints Mr. Kirk, I know how close you are to being finished. It will only take a week to construct the outer casing for the device once the design is finalized."

Spock almost narrows his eyes at the cryptic tone of T'Mal's speech. She is careful not to reveal anything about the project in front of him, going so far as to call the thing a device, not a weapon, which the curious shape of the thing called _'Genesis'_ greatly suggests.

"By next year," T'Mal continues, shifting her posture to direct her words at Spock, "we could be seeing an end to the Federation's problems. New life, new ways of living. No more fears, no more uncertainties." Her lips twitch, hinting at a smile but her eyes are smug and prideful, doing all the expressing for her.

"You speak as though you have created a utopia. Though the concept is known, no such place readily exists, nor will it ever Professor T'Mal." Spock argues, "The variables in the universe are too vast, and I have found from years of experience that where there is peace, there often times is also the possibility of hidden treachery."

T'Mal's brown eyes harden, seemingly displeased with his comment. "How very... _jaded_ of you, Commodore."

Spock arches a brow, feeling challenged. Her words are reason enough for concern and Spock’s opinion of her begins to change. Perhaps his father had been right to consider T’Mal a danger. "Negative, Professor. I am simply being realistic." He inclines his head, "I mean no offense."

"Vulcans do not experience offense, Commodore," T'Mal retorts, lifting her chin, which lends a somewhat haughty air to her manner that causes a severe fissure of dislike to open up inside Spock. "But perhaps you should open your mind up to bigger possibilities. The universe may be infinite, but it is the beings who live in it who have all the power to do great things."

Spock's lips purse slightly, his impression of the Professor changing the more she speaks. It would appear more and more as if this woman does not live wholly by logic and Spock feels the undercurrent of emotion that drives her; emotion she cannot keep entirely restrained. However, she does not appear to be manic or at a mental disadvantage. But perhaps her views of the world changed enough to cause concern. Spock would need to report this to his father. Perhaps they would be granted permission to investigate into the Professor if they could prove her intentions were not wholly logical.

They talk a little while longer with Jim changing the subject to a book T'Mal had written, obviously wanting to shake off the odd tension that had developed between his intended and his employer. For a while, they discuss the topics of her book and Spock notices how very...calm and normal she seems when they are not speaking about her current project. The emotionalism he had glimpsed earlier carefully guarded and locked away.

"We were going to go to dinner," Jim says as their conversation draws to a close, "would you like to join us?"

"Actually, I am quite busy still. You will have to excuse me, perhaps another time," T'Mal refuses and Spock hides the relief he feels. He doesn't think his nerves can handle any more strain than they have already experienced while speaking to this woman, trying to observe her for any tells or hints.

Together, he and James leave T'Mal to her work, her office door sliding shut behind them. Spock leaves the building with mixed impressions about the Professor. On one hand, she seems collected enough for a being having just experienced some great emotional upheavals; losing a bondmate can destroy an entire life's work in control and calm in some Vulcans. On the other hand, Spock was able to read certain twitches and flickers of emotion behind her words and eyes; things she wasn't saying. Then there was the odd way Jim tended to act around her, as if she were somehow threatening; an odd dichotomy when considering all of Jim's prior reassurances denying such a thing.

"See? She's not so bad," Jim remarks as they cross the compound toward the outer gate. The sun had set during their meeting and a cool breeze was rustling the vegetation around them. "She's just really...professional."

Spock isn't sure if he would call her demeanor 'professional', though she had been very polite throughout the entire conversation. She had seemed more guarded rather than professional, and more wary. Was she aware that Spock was more than personally interested in her project, or was she still under the impression that he had gleaned information already from his link with James? Surely she wouldn't assume he was capable of such an invasion of privacy, let alone invading Jim's.

"She is highly intelligent. I will have to read her research regarding compound reactions to red matter," Spock replies, "though, it seems like a very dangerous endeavor to be experimenting with red matter. It is very unstable and can cause great destruction. She must have used some of our containment facilities on Vulcan during her research before-" Frowning, Spock stops walking, having noticed Jim's steps hadn't been in time with his own for at least three paces. When he turns, he finds his lover standing still in the center of the gravel lot, his blue eyes vacantly staring off toward the gate and the wall surrounding it.

Spock's instincts surge again, raw and already reacting. He calmly walks back to Jim, approaching him slowly, "James?" He calls, lifting a hand and passing it before his lover's unblinking eyes as his worry skyrockets. "Jim!" Spock curls his fingers around his partner's chin, forcing his head to turn, although Jim’s eyes do not follow until Spock snaps his fingers beside his left ear.

"Hm? What," Jim blinks, seeming to shake off a feeling Spock hadn't even detected in him across their link. It is as if Jim had simply stopped existing for a second, his brain projecting static, his thoughts suppressed and his emotions veiled. Spock shivers, a sliver of fear working its way in past his mental defenses. But the fear doesn't belong to Jim, it is his own. Confusion turns Jim's expression quizzical. "What's wrong? Let's go," Jim says, shaking off the occurrence unhindered and brushing past Spock, sliding right back into their conversation. "I haven't read her book myself, but a few of the other engineers I work with have and they say it's brilliant, so you'll probably enjoy it. I'll see about getting my hands on a copy."

Jim's words fade behind Spock as his partner continues on toward the gate, but Spock hesitates, turning his gaze up toward the windowed second floor of building A and noting a figure standing there, cast into silhouette by the fluorescent lights behind her. But Spock recognizes T'Mal, just before she turns away and strides back into her office, her gait clipped.

"Are you coming?" Jim's impatient voice shakes Spock out of his scrutiny, his narrowed eyes staring up at T'Mal's closed office door. What kind of undetectable control did she have over Jim, that she could still affect him when he is over twenty-five feet away from her? Had she done something to Jim?

A sick feeling twists in Spock's guts but he thrusts it aside, turning to catch up to his lover who is now almost at the gate. If she has done something to Jim to cause this lapse into blankness, Spock has no proof. He has melded with Jim in the past few days many times, experienced his lover's mind and been in close contact with him. If she had been there, been within Jim's head, he would have sensed it...wouldn't he have? 

Perhaps Jim was simply tired and overworked. The past week had been both emotional and stressful for his partner, maybe he had simply done what Jim called 'zoning out' just now. A perfectly explainable occurrence in the human brain where all thought ceased and the eyes held fast to a single object in the distance while viewing it, never regarding it. It could be quite logical that Spock was simply overreacting to a behavior he simply had never witnessed before. After all, hadn't James 'zoned out' before? Usually it happened when he was very tired and mentally exhausted, though.

They part ways in the outer parking lot, Spock removing his hat on his way to the driver's side door of his coupe, forestalled by Jim's voice catching his attention and making him turn to regard his partner. "You know which Lebanese place I'm talking about, right? Meet you there?"

"Yes, Jim," Spock murmurs, lifting his eyes to study Jim's, searching for any echo of disorientation, anything that would alert him to something being wrong. But Jim is completely normal, acting as he always has, his tone amiable yet tired. A part of him wishes they could take a single car so he could utilize the privacy to question his lover, but that would mean leaving Jim's sedan here, and he'd rather not make a second trip out here this evening to retrieve it.

Spock climbs into his vehicle and tosses his hat onto the passenger seat with an annoyed air, frustrated that he hadn't found out anything productive. He was no closer to figuring out the truth about T'Mal and _'The Genesis Project'_ than when he had started earlier that week. Every measure he took to find out more information was blocked by security or by lack of opportunity. T'Mal was a closed book to him, completely shuttered behind confusing and defensive emotions, shielded by her cement and glass compound. Nothing short of espionage was going to get Spock the answers he sought, and he was reluctant to stoop that low to dig up T'Mal's well guarded secrets.

Being first to arrive at the restaurant, Spock takes the liberty of selecting a seat for them, picking a secluded table that faced the front of the establishment so he might see when Jim entered. He takes that moment alone at their table to lay down everything he knows about T'Mal out on his mental table, so to speak.

She was relatively young for a Vulcan, accomplished, intelligent and highly educated. She had been prestigious enough to serve aboard a science ship as their CSO for a year before the destruction of Vulcan and before that, had been a professor at the Vulcan Science Academy. She had very good credentials and glowing references. At the loss of Vulcan and the loss of her bondmate she had seemed to grow reclusive. Any and all work she had in progress remained unfinished past that time. She hadn't worked on a single study or even been in the public eye while residing on the new Vuclan Colony planet; of course, she had been in healing during that time, carefully isolated and then re-socialized under the protection and guidance of Vulcan mind-healers.

What had she thought about during her time on the colony, what path had she taken which led her to embark on this project? Spock could only guess, and without further information he could barely even do that. He only knew what _he_ would feel should he lose Jim so suddenly. Anger, sorrow, panic, frustration, pain. Most of all, the pain. He hated to even consider it, his hands folded loosely in his lap, head bowed as he regards the wood of the table, still waiting for his lover to appear and join him for dinner. How would those emotions serve to motivate him? Would he seek revenge, would he seek peace? Would there be blame to assign, an eye for an eye? Truly, there was no revenge to be had over the loss of Vulcan. The Nerada incident had been a result of the actions of one driven man, one disturbed Romulan. Should T’Mal seek revenge, she would have no one to take it on. Nero was dead.

Could it be that Sarek had simply been paranoid? Perhaps Spock's father hadn't given him the entire truth on the matter of Professor T'Mal. Was the Vulcan colony hiding something about their relationship with the Professor? Perhaps her supposed lies about their abuse weren't lies after all. However, as soon as Spock considers that, he pushes it aside. The mind-healers would have no reason to hurt T'Mal, in fact they would only have wished to help her. That is, if she even wanted their help. Had she refused them and left? Perhaps she had felt like a prisoner there, trapped against her will, wanting to do _something_ herself to fix her emotional pain. Spock could still see that pain, like a deep seed in the center of her eyes, twisting her like a gnarled tree branch. What could help rid one of such pain? Distractions. Was the project simply that, a distraction?

"What're you thinking about?" Jim's voice cuts like a knife through Spock's deep ruminations, causing his head to snap up, brown eyes wide. His shock startles Jim, who leans back in his chair across from Spock, an uncertain smile on his lips. "Whoa, sorry...didn't mean to startle you. I said 'hey', but you didn't hear me. You were _that_ far gone."

"I apologize...I had not noticed you," Spock murmurs, hiding his own surprise over his behavior. He hadn't even heard Jim, hadn't even realized how deeply he'd gone into his own mind and worries.

"Mind telling me what you were thinking about so hard?" Jim asks, unfolding a napkin from the table and draping it over his knee beneath the table, his engineering jumpsuit unzipped partially at the throat, revealing his black undershirt beneath. The look gave him the appearance of being more relaxed, more...himself.

Giving a minute shake of his head, Spock directs his eyes down at the menu set out before him. When had a waiter come to attend them? How long had Jim been sitting across from him, watching him but not saying anything? "I was simply curious about your behavior in Professor T'Mal's office earlier." Not really a lie, since he had been wondering about it; it simply hadn't been the main problem at the forefront of his mind.

"What?" Jim blinks, confused, reaching for his glass of water and taking a sip. "What do you mean, my 'behavior'? We were having a chat, you got to meet her." He shrugs, "I guess I just find it awkward talking to her. For some reason she seems more standoffish than any other Vulcans I've spoken with."

"No more distant than my father," Spock remarks. In fact, Jim hadn't seemed to notice, but T’Mal spoke more emotionally than any other Vulcan Spock had met.

"Are you kidding? Talking to Sarek would seem like child's play compared to talking to Professor T'Mal," Jim responds, flipping through his digital menu, "oh hey, they have falafel."

Spock arches a brow, "that still doesn't quite explain your very obvious discomfort while speaking with the Professor."

"Doesn't it? She puts me on edge, I don't know why Spock but she just does. I think it's because she doesn't really talk to me much in the first place, so anything she has to say seems like it could be really important or...'judgy'? I don't know, I can't exactly discuss the latest sports news with her, you know?" Jim sighs, his eyes still on his menu, tactfully avoiding eye contact.

"You do not discuss the sports news with me," Spock points out, making Jim snort and shake his head.

"No, because I know you're not interested in it, and in truth...I'm not really either. It was just an example Spock."

Deciding he most likely won't get more out of Jim on the subject, Spock opens his menu and peruses the choices on display. Perhaps the farro lentil salad would be a good start. They place their orders and Spock vaguely recognizes the voice of the waiter attending them, but he still cannot remember the man approaching their table earlier with menus.

Jim folds his hands on the lip of the table and leans forward, his weight braced on his elbows against the arms of his seat. "So what are we going to do about David's school situation? You submitted the complaint this week about Mrs. DuVoe, but he would have gone back to school today. We need to find another place to send him before summer break or he'll be taking summer school just to catch up with the other students."

Grateful for the familiar ground, Spock lets the topic slide into that of David's schooling, finding it a comfort to think about the child rather than the confusing events of the past few hours. "I had thought we might seek out a private school for David, a smaller establishment with a better staff to student ratio who might provide better guidance and support for your son."

"Yeah, that was the plan. There's only one private school close enough to us for me to consider. I don't want to have to drive David an hour to school and an hour back; that's four hours of driving a day, every day." Jim sighs, looking up as two steaming mugs of tea are placed before them by their waiter. Spock takes a sip of his, but Jim stirs in sugar from packets on the table in his own.

"Should we set a date to do a walk-through of the establishment?" Spock asks.

"Yeah, I'll call them later this week." Leaning back in his seat, Jim shifts his silverware aside to rest out of the way and runs a hand back through his hair. "Which reminds me of another thing, what are we going to do about David's birthday? Should we let him have a party, or should we restrict it to just us...maybe the bridge crew if they're available."

"You mean, should we punish David for enacting violence on a classmate by denying him a celebration of his choosing?" Spock frowns slightly, wrapping his fingers around the mug of tea for warmth. "In this case, I do not think that would be helpful, James."

"No?" Jim prompts, inquisitive.

"I believe David needs to be surrounded by his friends, his family. He is obviously not getting the attention he needs from his peers to feel secure in himself. Perhaps if we allowed him to spend more time with children of his own age group he would find confidence in his relationships with others," Spock explains. Jim nods in agreement.

"I think you're right. Besides, he's been looking forward to this birthday for months. Jeez, I can't believe he's already almost nine..." Jim groans, leaning his head back in a dramatic display of weariness. "He'll be a teenager soon, _Christ_."

Spock arches a brow at his partner, "I believe the term is 'kids grow up fast'?"

Jim chuckles, smiling down at his cup of tea he's twisting around and around on the tabletop by the handle, "Yeah, they do, don't they?" He mutters, a rhetorical question.

Their food arrives a short time later and they eat in companionable silence, Spock beginning to relax from the stress of earlier. Jim seems fine, at ease and accessible, his mind open across their link with flickers of emotion Spock can feel from across the table. He feels Jim’s reactions to their food, his affection for Spock, and his weariness over a long day. The normalcy lulls Spock toward complacency, even if in the back of his mind he still recalls that vacant stare in Jim's eyes just over an hour ago. It picks at his brain, worries at him in the back of his mind. Was this that sensation Jim called a 'gut feeling'? As Spock is considering whether he should perhaps make Jim aware of his short lapse into unresponsiveness and question him about possible headaches, perhaps this was all Spock's fault, a result of their frequent melds, Jim embarks on a conversation Spock hadn't exactly been prepared for.

"So I was thinking, with David gone tonight and the rest of the evening up to us..." Jim leans back, away from his mostly empty plate and the communal orders of food in the center of their table, "I was thinking we could," he flushes, rolling one shoulder in a slight shrug and brushing his knuckle against his nose, "bond...tonight?"

Spock's fork clatters slightly against his plate, slipping from his fingers in a blatant display of his surprise, serving to shame him. He purses his lips and retracts his hands back into his lap, bringing his napkin up to his lips as he composes himself while Jim grins at him from across the table.

"Sorry, maybe I should have brought this up at home instead?" Jim grimaces, but Spock can feel the nervous jiggle of his foot beneath their table, slightly jostling their water in their glasses.

"Negative," Spock murmurs, straightening up and folding his napkin back into his lap, "I had simply not...considered you would wish to proceed with our bond tonight."

"Well, there's no telling when we'll get another chance," Jim murmurs, "as unromantic as that sounds, it would be rather convenient to do it tonight, wouldn't you say?"

"And you are...confident in your decision?" Spock asks, causing Jim's brows to shoot for the sky.

"Are you kidding me? I already told you I want a bond, I want..." he leans forward across their table, bracing one arm against its surface and dropping his voice to a low murmur, "I want us to be together, like _really_ together." Across their link, Spock feels a very intense sense of possessiveness. It causes his heart to race and his blood to pulse through his veins, a shiver raising the hairs along the back of his neck.

"I have not yet contacted the authorities at the Vulcan Colony, nor have I alerted my father to place your name on our family scrolls," Spock argues, though his voice is weak, lacking any true denial. He has wanted a deeper bond with James for years, had wanted it from the very morning they had kissed one another. Excitement and yearning floods through Spock, his body flashing hot and then cold again as desire, a feeling echoed by Jim across from him, courses through him.

"So what? Your father knows we're serious, you don't need his permission...right?" Jim frowns.

"No, of course not James," Spock murmurs.

"So we can bond before it's official?"

Spock pauses, then inclines his head in a deep nod, "Yes."

Jim breaks into a wide smile, blue eyes dark with mischief. "So it'll be like we're eloping," he chuckles, "that's great. C'mon, let's split," he smirks, calling for their check. Spock lets Jim pay for their meal this time and follows his intended out of the restaurant. It is an overcast night but the rain has yet to fall, the tangy smell of it mixed with the scent of ozone mingling with the other city smells. Spock begins to separate from Jim in the parking lot, approaching his car, when Jim's hand curls around his arm and drags him back a step.

"Hey uh, will you pick up a new pack of migraine hypos on your way home?" He asks, lips twitching smugly, "I have a feeling I'll need one tonight and we're out."

"I will," Spock agrees, lingering in Jim's space as his partner peers up at him. It's Jim who reaches out first, discreetly holding out two fingers toward Spock in a gesture of private intimacy. Spock returns the gesture with warmth, sliding his fingers over Jim's and reveling in the shiver of consciousness he can feel beneath the surface of Jim's skin. They part reluctantly and Spock climbs into his coupe, selecting a route to the nearest drugstore.

When he arrives at their home thirty minutes later, it's to find all the lights in the house off. He parks the car in the garage and goes upstairs, emerging into a darkened hallway lit only by the glow emitting from the clock on the stove in the kitchen and the nightlight in the stairwell. He passes Snowy sitting on the bottom step on his way up and she mewls at him in greeting, accepting his brief stroke of his finger across her head. Upstairs, their bedroom door is ajar and Spock brushes it aside, only now hearing the rush of water from their bathroom. Setting his hat down on the dresser by the bed, Spock reaches up to unpin the collar of his uniform, sliding the zipper down and shrugging it off.

Compelled by routine, Spock takes his uniform shirt and pants into the closet and hangs them up, setting his shoes aside as well. With Jim still in the shower, Spock lowers himself onto the floor before the balcony sliding door in just his briefs and undershirt, closing his eyes and retreating into his mind. He addresses some of the emotions triggered by today's events, but finds that sorting through them and wrestling them into submission might take longer than he has, so for now, he forces them aside, pushing them deep down past the layers of his psyche until they are only a faint glimmer across his consciousness. Distantly, he hears the bathroom door open, but he doesn't move, feeling Jim approach across the carpet and sink down behind him, hearing his partner's knees pop softly with the movement.

Warm hands slide over Spock's shoulders, hot from Jim's shower and Spock sucks in a deep breath as Jim's fingers curl up the curve of his neck. "Can we just...forget about everything else tonight?" Jim asks softly, his words urging Spock to open his eyes. He regards their reflection in the glass of the sliding door before them, but all he can see of Jim is the curve of the right side of his face, his body blocking the rest of his lover except for his hands as they reach up to sift through Spock's hair. "Forget about the Professor...about work and schools and responsibilities," Jim murmurs, "just escape? For one night?"

Tempted, Spock slides a hand back behind him, finding one of Jim's bare knees and caressing it's shape. "I would be...amenable to escaping with you tonight, James." Perhaps a night away from all this would clear Spock's mind, allow him to take a step back and think logically and objectively about his impressions of Professor T'Mal and just what to report to Sarek about her. Perhaps not thinking about the issue would allow his subconscious to consider the matter and come up with a solution to finding out more about _'The Genesis Project'_.

Turning his head, Spock casts his intended a glance over his shoulder. However, his words remain unspoken when he notices Jim's nakedness, his partner sitting cross-legged behind him with his hands resting around Spock's waist. Taking a deep breath affords Spock the luxury of basking in Jim's freshly showered scent as well and he feels his pulse rate kick in his neck, his heart giving a tremble in his side. In this light cast by the glow of the moon behind restless rain clouds, Jim looks just like how Spock had always seen him in his mind during his mission in space. Every hour of the night shift he had lain down to rest on his bunk, he had closed his eyes to envision this picture of James, bare and open to him, hands reaching for him, eyes sparkling and alive in the darkness, all other colors drained from his vibrant form and replaced with monochromes beautiful in their simplicity.

Jim's lips twist into a rueful smile, dropping his eyes with a flutter of embarrassment Spock can feel across their link, an emotion that feels like heat at the back of his neck. "I figured we should be... as close as humanly possible, right? At least to start..." Jim comments, "even if it's not really your tradition, I thought we could make our own. Together."

Spock braces his hands onto the floor, leaning up and getting onto his feet again, extending a hand to his partner to help him up as well. As they face one another, Spock reaches over his shoulder and drags his undershirt off over his head, letting it slide from his fingers to the floor and noticing how the urge to shiver does not come. Jim has raised the heat in the house in preparation for this and Spock feels a swell of gratitude and love fill his chest at his partner's thoughtfulness. Ridding himself of his briefs as well, they stand naked together in their home, a place that feels safe, that feels like theirs. Jim lifts his hands palm up toward Spock, smiling when Spock slides his palms down over his and exhibits pleasure at the contact, closing his eyes with a shudder.

"See...I could have gotten down on one knee in the restaurant earlier, asked you to be my Vulcan wife in public, since that's a _human_ tradition-" Jim begins in a teasing tone.

"I am immensely grateful you did not. And I must also object to being the 'wife' in this partnership," Spock responds, curling his fingers around Jim's hands and pulling them forward to rest clasped against his chest. They are standing so close now that Spock can feel the subtle body heat emanating off his mate, a most pleasurable sensation. "Given that I lack the necessary attributes for such a role."

Jim laughs softly, tipping his head down to hide a smile, one errant curl dipping down over his forehead.

"Although, if you require some form of expressed sentiment..." Spock murmurs, his grip on Jim's hands changing as he slides down onto his knees, his hands encouraging Jim's to slide across his cheeks to cradle his face. Looking up at Jim from this angle causes him to look even more magnificent and ethereal in the low light of the room and Spock gleans some satisfaction by watching his lover's eyes widen at his posture of submission. "I would ask that you accept me as I am, Ashayam, and cherish me as I cherish you."

Jim's brows purse, affected by great emotion that Spock can feel through the fingertips pressed into the sides of his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones almost reverently. "Of course I will, Spock. I've never wanted you to be anyone else..." He licks his lips, a sharp spear of nervousness piercing the softer emotions in his lover's mind. "I love you for you, Spock."

Closing his eyes, Spock tips his face into Jim's right hand cradling his cheek, sliding his hands up Jim's wrists and pressing his lips into the curve of his mate's palm. The creak of a bedspring makes Spock look up again, meeting Jim's gaze as his mate sits on the edge of their bed and draws Spock closer with fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. Spock leans up on his knees, sliding his arms around Jim's waist and pressing his forehead over his mate's chest, listening to his heart as it begins to beat faster, Jim's hands skimming down his shoulders and back.

"How...how do we do this?" Jim asks softly, feeling nervous again, the emotion causing Spock's heart rate to pick up as well.

"You mean how do we proceed with the _koon'ul_?" Spock asks, his lips twitching on an aborted smile when Jim shivers at the Vulcan word. "Are you comfortable? Perhaps you should lie down," Spock suggests, getting to his feet and reaching for the edge of the blankets, drawing them back invitingly for Jim to crawl beneath. He follows suit. Jim scoots across the mattress to make room as they both settle into bed, with Jim fussing with the blankets until Spock stays his movements with a hand on his mate's wrist. "Peace, James," he murmurs, still feeling Jim's nervousness like an acrid bite at the back of his throat.

"Sorry..." Jim murmurs, subsiding against the pillows and turning his head to stare up at the ceiling. "Is there, I don't know, something I should be thinking about? Besides us, that is?"

"I simply need you to remain focused on being calm and relaxed," Spock murmurs, "if your thoughts or emotions spin out of control or you panic, I will be forced to stop, lest I cause you pain."

"You could hurt me?" Jim blinks, "I mean, telepathy can hurt me?"

"If done improperly or by force, yes.” Spock admits, "that is why I need you to trust me."

Jim's eyes soften in the dim room and he turns his head to regard Spock with a crooked smile, "I trust you."

Spock sits up on one elbow, sliding that arm beneath Jim's neck and shoulders for support and as a means to anchor himself as he reaches out with his free hand toward Jim's face. But just before he touches his lover, Jim opens his mouth to speak again.

"Oh shit, we've got to ask David what kind of cake he wants for his birthday...do some grocery shopping tomorrow," Jim squints, "tomorrow is Saturday, right?"

"Yes, Jim," Spock murmurs, resting his hand on Jim's sternum, fingers loosely curled.

"I need to wrap his gift too, it's been sitting in the back of our closet for weeks now," Jim muses, glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling past Spock's head. "And call some of his friend's parents, make sure they got David's invitations and the time of the party right."

"Mmn," Spock murmurs in wordless agreement, Jim only seeming to notice then that he is stalling, looking sheepish.

"Sorry...I guess I'm just," he winces, "nervous."

"I know," Spock murmurs, "as am I."

Jim's brows lift, "Oh yeah? Well you're doing a pretty damn good job of not showing it."

Spock arches a brow at his lover, who laughs.

"Right, right...Vulcan for a reason," he mumbles, nestling himself deeper into the pillows and folding his hands over his stomach, setting a contented expression on his face and turning his eyes up to Spock's. "Alright, go for it."

Jim's eyes close as Spock lifts his fingers to the meld points on his mate's face, soft fingertips stroking over forehead, cheek, and chin as Spock susses them out by habit, almost barely needing them as JIm's mind skims just at the surface, the link readily accessible. Jim's thoughts are a flurry of emotion and action, full of questions and distractions as Spock travels the link to initiate a meld, murmuring the customary words beneath his breath and feeling Jim's amusement at them as they sink together into a now familiar space.

_'Shit, did you close the garage door?'_

_**'Jim.'** _

_'Right, right...sorry. Calm, focused. Go on.'_

Spock sinks deeper into Jim's mind, as deeply as they had melded their first night alone together the weekend prior, tangled up in one another until they are unsure of endings or beginnings. All there is in Spock's mind is James. His wants, his desires, his joys, his sorrows. So much chaotic intent and mischief, simple pleasure and defiant loyalty. Love and intimacy, feelings of gratitude and awe that stupefy Spock into reverent silence as he follows that line of thought to its core. Jim is grateful for Spock, is gratified to be accepted and loved by him, in awe of him. No one has ever been in awe of Spock before and the emotion chokes the Vulcan for a moment.

_'Of course I'm in awe of you...'_ Jim's voice, soft and gentle like a warm breeze caresses Spock's senses through the meld; makes him revel in the sound of it, miss it like it's been gone his whole life.

_'I do not deserve your praise,'_ Spock whispers back across the link, causing feelings of justice and righteousness to rise in Jim.

_'You deserve so much more...but it's me you're getting. And David too. Hope we're enough.'_

_'More than enough, Ashayam.'_

Spock reaches deeper into Jim's mind, sifts down through the layers of his lover's consciousness, following their link toward its end like a glittering and shimmering golden thread through the dark. It twists deeper, writhing like a snake and Spock feels his forehead press to Jim's outside the meld, even as the awareness of his own body begins to fade, a floating feeling coming over him as he wades ever deeper into Jim's mind. 

Their heart rates increase, a distant sound like varying drums in their ears, one swift like a rabbits, the other so fast it's a flutter. But just as Spock is about to reach a new point in their connection, Jim's emotions change. He panics, a feeling of uncontrolled spinning and disorientation taking him over in an instant as he retreats. The effect is similar to Spock having a door slammed in his face as he's forced out of the meld so fast he is light headed when he opens his eyes in reality.

Jim gasps and jerks out of the meld in the next instant, arching under Spock's restraining arm and almost headbutting him as he brings his head up in shock. "Holy _fuck_ , what was going on!?"

Grimacing, Spock ignores the throbbing in his temple, a result of the abruptly ended meld. "You grew afraid, it's alright...James," Spock murmurs, gripping his mate's shoulders firmly but with gentle reproach as Jim continues to shake and try to jerk away, his eyes somewhat unfocused and flitting about the room; disoriented. "James, it is alright. Collect yourself and we will try again. James," Spock murmurs, reaching up to tip his fingers into the side of Jim's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze, "it is alright. No matter what happens, I have a firm hold on you, I won't let you fall."

"It felt like I was falling..." Jim whispers, eyes wide and staring up at Spock with disbelief. "I've never felt like that outside of a dream before."

"I can control it, we won't be free-falling...just accept the feeling, allow it to take hold," Spock instructs as he smooths Jim's hair back from his forehead, his mate having broken into a sweat during their meld. Glancing at the clock, Spock notes the time; it's been twenty-seven minutes since they had begun the meld.

"Okay, okay...okayokayokay," Jim chants, as if saying it more will make it so. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim reaches up to press his fingers into his temples for a moment, quelling a migraine. Spock reaches across the edge of the bed and retrieves a medicated hypo-spray from the nightstand, arming it with one hand before pressing it into the side of Jim's neck and depressing the trigger. Jim winces, but doesn't complain, his arm flopping back onto the mattress in an outward expression of his exhaustion.

"Perhaps you ought to rest before we try again," Spock suggests, but Jim simply shakes his head.

"No, let's do this again. I panicked once, it won't happen again. We've been melding regularly for over a week now; we're stronger than this." Jim sniffs, his tone filled with disciplined will.

Spock waits until Jim's heart rate is at a normal level before reaching for his mate again, forming his fingers to his psi-points and sliding right back into the meld as if he had never left it. Jim gives a little shiver of appreciation for the sensation before Spock is following the lead again, only this time, he takes a different approach.

_'Jim...'_ An ethereal figure of Spock shimmers into being across the meld, a visual representation of himself standing across the plane of their connected minds. A reddish haze of a figure in the blackness around them.

_'Holy shit, how did you do that?'_ As Jim reacts and speaks, Spock envisions his mate in all his beauty, reaches out toward the mind he can feel there, twisted up in their link like fibers in a rope, their fingers touching across a mental landscape and lacing together in the reality outside their meld. Spock hums in pleasure at the feeling, making the image of Jim smile as he experiences joy and satisfaction in Spock's reaction.

_'This is amazing...'_ Jim whispers, his breath cool against Spock's cheek as they embrace one another. If Spock is all reds and oranges, his form sheer and ghostly, Jim is solid gold. His touch has weight in the meld, full of significance and intent that pulls Spock down through their link. It weighs on him like an anchor and Spock lets it drag him away.

_'Hold onto me,'_ Spock warns as he tightens his mental hold around James, grasping the very essence of his lover's thoughts and emotions as Jim clings to him in return. Together they float, then they fall. Jim's first instinct is to panic, but Spock grounds him with his touch, traps his lover's unstable shape in himself as they twist together into deeper blackness. 

_'Peace, Ashayam. Trust in me, hold onto me,'_ Spock commands, feeling Jim respond to his tone. Together they lose all other senses aside from that of the mind. Unaware of the world around them, tangled up in one another so tightly until they are stretched thin.

Combing through the various memories open to him, Spock sees whatever he is allowed to as Jim opens up to him, blooming like a flower under his inquisitive touch. Flashes of color and sensation pass before Spock's eyes, a torrent of fear and love and desire, a heady cocktail that has Spock dizzy. How Jim can function under this chaos he cannot fathom, but the pure laughter from Jim is enough to make him smile.

_'I know nothing else, Spock,'_ Jim explains, reminding Spock of their differences and how beautifully they mesh. Jim's energy compliments Spock's calm; his love complimenting Spock's loyalty; his wonder alongside Spock's curiosity. Together they explore, together they find parts of one another neither had glimpsed. Spock sees Jim's childhood, sees his younger years of struggle that break his heart into pieces with every disappointment and every sorrow. Spock also feels every triumph, living Jim's Captaincy through his mate's eyes and feeling the depths of his mate's anguish over the loss of Vulcan those five years ago.

In turn, Spock lets Jim see him, see the outcast and the longing to fit in. The feelings of being misplaced and judged, the people who met him with hate or righteous indignation. He lets Jim see his memories of Amanda, her capacity for caring and her love of the arts, her gentle demeanor and her fierce defense of those she loved. Her wonder of everything unexplored and her wonder over her son as Spock had felt it as a young boy. He lets Jim see his deceased pet I-Chaya, his desert sands and jagged rocks. His frustration, his hatred, his sorrow. His pain, his anguish, and his struggle. His love, his curiosity, his flame. But thirty years of life is too much detail to share moment by moment with one another, some memories whirl by so fast Spock can hardly grasp them. Other emotions appear untriggered and unbidden, no context to make them tangible or understood.

Jim's mind turns through pain and fear again and again until Spock tries to find its source, tries to follow it to a memory he cannot reach but something holds him at bay. It isn't Jim, Jim is experiencing this fear and pain alongside him, nearly weeping with it and grasping at Spock, begging him not to go to that place of agony. But even if Spock wanted to, he could not, the memory is buried so deep and connected to other random memories Spock can only glimpse. Both their heads ache with the pain of it and Spock wraps himself up in his mate, sending shivering waves of love and soothing calm through the growing bond into Jim's mind to settle him.

_'What pains you, beloved?'_ Spock asks, begging his mate to tell him, wanting to soothe that pain away and make Jim feel whole again; feel alive and overjoyed again.

_'I...don't know, I just...I don't want to think about it,'_ Jim stammers, his voice choked with pain and tears.

_'I will not make you relive it, Ashayam,'_ Spock concedes, only wanting Jim to no longer be in pain, to no longer experience with him that throbbing in the temple, the searing migraine that is that veiled memory.

_'Do all betrothal bonds feel like this?'_ Jim asks a little while later, once they are soothed and calm again, laying across Spock's memory of the hot Vulcan sand dunes, pushing their hands through the sand and sifting it through their fingers like silk.

_'No...my previous betrothal bond to T'Pring did not have this level of emotion to it. We were compatible, but we were not...'_ Spock trails off, considering a thought that had only just come to him as they sit together in the reddish sand. Jim reaches out and pours sand from his hands over Spock's and the Vulcan turns his hands palm up to receive it, rubbing it's gritty texture around in his sensitive palms and remembering how it felt.

_'What were you not?'_ Jim prompts after he decides Spock has been silent for too long, a flick of impatience urging Spock to continue.

_'We were not T'hy'la,'_ he murmurs, suddenly struck by this feeling. James is everything to him, all encompassing. Lover, brother, friend. Compassion, love, and intimacy. How else would they have bonded so quickly, how else would Spock's mind have yearned for the touch of only Jim's for four whole years? All it had taken was that first touch, that single meld they had embarked on together during Jim's Captaincy born of necessity. It had been there, at rest, in the back of Spock's mind, shoved aside and swallowed down like a thick pill. 

Before, Spock had written his desire off. Jim hadn't seemed the type to reciprocate. But now, after this long, his desires were being fulfilled and Spock aches deliciously with satisfaction for it.

_'T'hy'la?'_ Jim tries the word out for himself, though he lacks the certain reverence Spock had spoken it with.

_'Lover, brother, and friend. You are my other, a mind that compliments my own so deeply there is no denying it. The strength of our connection, the intensity of our melds and our bond, there is no other explanation,'_ Spock confides. Jim's mind waxes in wonder and elation.

_'That's amazing...so we're like a superhero couple or something now?'_

Spock chuckles, the sound sending a shiver up Jim's spine, opening a pocket of hot desire that Spock's partner had been holding at bay until now. _'If that is what you wish us to be, then yes. But it means we are going to become so thoroughly entwined...so strongly bonded that touch may not be a requirement for us to communicate. We will be so in tune with one another...it will be physically impossible for either of us to live without the other.'_

_'Sounds more like Romeo and Juliet now...'_ Jim remarks, grinning at Spock, the hot Vulcan sunshine glinting off the shine of his teeth.

_'It means there can be no other for me, you are the single chance...the one out of ten billion individuals on Earth alone.'_

Jim's lips part in shock, his feelings of wonder bowling Spock over again with their intensity. _'You mean there can only be one T'hy'la?'_ He asks.

_'Only one for every Vulcan, and most never find them...some only find them later in life, sometimes after a bond of convenience,'_ Spock explains, noticing how Jim's eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

_'Holy shit...if we had never-'_ he swallows and wipes at his eyes with a knuckle, brushing his fingertips through the sand between their crossed legs. _'If I had told you no three years ago...you would have never known.'_

_'No, I would not have known you were my T'hy'la,'_ Spock agrees as he pushes himself forward on his knees, knocking Jim back into the sand and smirking down at the wide blue eyes staring up at him. _'Which is why you are forever mine.'_

Rolling his eyes, Jim tumbles them off the sand dune, and straight into one of his own memories as Spock sinks into his lover's mind-scape. They roll naked across the floor of the Captain's quarters aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ ; not as Spock had left them, but as Jim had left them. Jim's things decorate the shelves and walls, his desk is cluttered with data chips and PADDs. They roll to a stop just past the desk and Jim clamors on top of Spock, his hands braced against the Vulcan's chest.

_'I've always thought about what it would have been like to have you here...as my First Officer,'_ Jim smirks, leaning forward to slide his hands onto the floor to either side of Spock's head.

Spock skims his fingertips up the curves of Jim's thighs, shamelessly rewriting memory as he lays beneath his naked mate. _'The favoritism would be rampant...'_ He comments, making Jim laugh.

_'Yeah, you're probably right,'_ Jim comments, leaning his head down to slot their lips together in a kiss; an odd feeling neither of them are entirely used to as they both feel an echo of the kiss in each other's minds, each feeling how their own lips feel for the other. _'Mmn, I like being able to talk to you still even while we're kissing,'_ Jim remarks, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing Spock's lower lip.

_'It is rather convenient,'_ Spock agrees. Together, they rise and move toward the bed, Jim tearing the coverlet back with a grimace.

_'It always felt itchy to me, didn't you think so?'_

_'I had thermo-wear, James.'_

_'Oh yeah... climb in.'_ Jim grins, crawling over the bunk behind Spock until they lay side by side facing one another, Jim's arm slipping beneath Spock's neck for support as they wind up kissing again, hands roaming what skin they can reach and feeling by both memory and sensation. Jim seems to remember what feels good for Spock from their previous melds, for he makes a point of caressing Spock's exposed ear, rubbing the tip and lobe until Spock groans.

They press closer to one another on the small bunk, emotion and thought bleeding together until neither is aware of the singular, they are one in every aspect, in mind and in body as Jim takes them both in hand to incite pleasure. Distantly, Spock is grateful that this is not the real _Enterprise_ , for surely Jim's groans would alert their shipmates of their less than professional activities.

They move against one another without needing questions, without needing permissions as they both seek what they desire from the other. Jim's hands roam low over Spock's body, both exploring and experiencing his touch through his mate's reactions. Every stroke of Jim's hand across Spock's flesh sends flames of desire through his veins, enticed by every movement, by every lust-filled word bleeding from Jim's mouth even as it kisses and sucks on Spock's skin. Down his torso, over his thighs, along his arms and fingers until Spock's mind rebels into chaos. His control is swept aside by Jim's tongue against his flesh, his thoughts rioting against Jim's teasing. He doesn't need to beg, his desperation is felt in his mate, who tends to him as much as necessary before shifting over him, sliding between Spock's legs and tipping his face into the crook of his neck to kiss and breathe in the scent of his skin.

They rock together, always in rhythm, Spock gasping as they finally come together, Jim's body fitted close against his own, filling him up with emotion and physical sensations as they collide. Spock's fingernails bite into Jim's back as he clings to his lover's form and Jim's hot breath is against the side of his face. Their eyes open, searching for one another's gaze and holding it as they rock together. Jim's features are flushed, his blue eyes bright and his lips plump in evidence of their passion. His hands slide up the bed to curl beneath Spock's shoulder blades, gaining a better grip on Spock as he thrusts, the shared sensations of Jim's position over his Vulcan mate echoing back to Spock through their bond and seeking to overwhelm him, sensations sparking like a live wire.

It seems like only a moment before Spock gives himself over to the sensations and reactions of his body and the feelings of love and acceptance and possession coursing through him and from him like the push and pull of the tides. He cannot help but cry out as he reaches the pinnacle of release, his back arching under the strain, lungs burning as he sucks in a sharp breath, limbs twisted up around Jim, needing to hold him closer, just _needing_ him. 

The moment proves to be too much for them both, for as they both tense at the point of climax, Jim's expression twists toward that of agony, sweet and pure, fraught with weary satisfaction as his mind slips swiftly away into exhaustion. It retreats from the meld, growing quiet even as he speaks the last word of his continuing litany of praise and love during their consummation. _'God, Spock...'_

Spock rushes to the surface of his thoughts, a feeling akin to being pushed up through a heavy veil of water and receiving oxygen again for the first time in long minutes. He jolts out of the meld and into a half sitting position. He is out of breath, sweaty, heart pounding in his side so loudly he can hear it. The weight against his body doesn't help, Jim's limp form is cast over him in a shadow of their position within the meld. Wincing, Spock flops back against the bed, holding Jim's head against his shoulder so as not to jostle him. Getting his bearings again, he reaches out toward the nightstand to his right and fumbles for a second hypo spray, pulling the release back and sticking himself in the neck with it as his temples begin to ache. Normally, he could seek to control it through meditation, willing the pain away, but tonight he is exhausted, sharing in Jim's feelings of fatigue.

Tossing the empty hypo-spray toward the nightstand, he cannot bring himself to care when he hears it clatter to the floor. They are a tangled mess of sheets and skin, Jim's body stuck to his own, his shallow breaths warm against his collarbone. For the longest time, Spock cannot bring himself to try to move, his muscles aching and serving to remind him of their actions outside the meld, driven to copulate by the intensity of their emotions. Together, they are sticky...chilled as their sweat dries, but Jim doesn't shift in discomfort, seemingly unaware that he still resides _within_ his Vulcan mate.

Carefully, Spock rolls them over until he can untangle himself, wearily extracting his limbs from their entwinement with Jim's and the sheets. He staggers when he gets out of bed, unused to experiencing such an intense meld for such a long duration. He glances at the clock, unsure of the passage of time and notices it is already half past midnight. They had been in the meld for roughly five hours and Spock's muscles protest movement as he stumbles into the bathroom, hissing in pain as the light drives daggers into his eyes and blinds him until they can adjust. He closes the door and braces his hands on the sink, managing to get a look at himself in the mirror.

There are...bruises dappled across his skin from his neck, down his chest, curling all the way down to his hips and thighs. He does not remember being handled so roughly, their passion overlaying any pain brought on by the severity of Jim's grip or the bite of his teeth. They are already turning vaguely green under the light and Spock ignores their soreness in favor of cupping his hands beneath the faucet and drinking water to ease his dry throat. He wipes his arm across his chin to dry it and fishes a hand towel out from the linen shelf, running it under warm water to cleanse himself so he might sleep comfortably.

He takes the wet towel with him into the bedroom. His headache is already beginning to subside as he slides on his knees across the bed and gingerly wipes the sweat and emissions from his mate's flesh. Jim doesn't even stir throughout his ministrations, his limbs heavy and limp when Spock arranges them against the mattress, managing to untangle the sheets so they might utilize them properly. He sets the wet towel on the nightstand, no longer having the energy or strength of will to get up and put it in its rightful place. Instead, he slides beneath the sheets, resting his head on their disheveled pillows and turns to face his betrothed mate.

There is a simple beauty and a bliss in Jim's face when he sleeps, his features still and unresponsive, no longer emoting or expressive. His lashes cast soft shadows in the hollows of his eyes and his lips part softly as he breathes. Spock is content to watch him like this for a while, even as the edges of sleep creep in on him. He notices, above the slope of the sheet resting over the dip of Jim's waist, that he is not the only one sporting marks of passion. It would seem Spock's nails had left trails up his lover's sides, bruises in the forms of fingertips scattered over Jim's shoulders, upper arms, and lower back. Perhaps later Spock might feel guilty for inflicting such damage on his mate's body, but in this moment, satiated and more contented than he has ever felt...Spock can only feel pleased. One might call it barbaric, but Spock takes pride in knowing this being of light is his. This captivating man bound to him in body and in mind.

Reaching out, Spock slides his fingers through Jim's tousled hair, smoothing it into place against the swell of the pillow. Ignoring the way his muscles scream at the movement, Spock slides forward in bed to curl himself around Jim, cradling his mate's head against his chest and resting his chin atop it. He drags the sheets up to their shoulders, trapping the heat of their bodies beneath the blankets. _'Rest...my T'hy'la,'_ Spock whispers to James through their bond, now a thick rope of connection between them. It ties them together, like two ships in the night far from their harbors. An island in the middle of an ocean, each yearning for so long, only to finally find one another in the vast expanse of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	11. Hexed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We join Jim, Spock, and David in a week of their lives together as Jim and Spock settle into their new bond together and David settles into a new school. However, Spock still wrestles with his indecision over the problems surrounding James...and Professor T'Mal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back for another Sunday update guys! Things are beginning to pick up in the plot of the fic and I'd really like to know what you guys are thinking as you read and how you feel about the turn of events. I really love the feedback you guys have been giving me and I really appreciate it! I know that it's midterm season at the moment, so I understand some people may be unable to read, but my fic will still be here when the stress and such all blows over, don't worry! I wish those of you in school good luck!
> 
> As always, I'd love to thank my lovely beta reader for her tireless support of me and my writing. Thank you so much [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate)! I'm truly grateful for you!
> 
> I wrote this chapter with excitement and trepidation over what is to come, so I figured [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTBtyQMBkXQ) song might add some atmosphere to the mysteries developing between Jim and Spock and between Jim and Professor T'Mal. It is entitled _'Paintings on the Wall'_ and I found it through the game trailer for **_'Layers of Fear'_**. Another song I find that fits this chapter is [_'The Way (Instrumental)'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN2Xs-MvxLw) by **Zack Hemsey**. Feel free to give these songs a listen while you read, it might add to the atmosphere of the fic for you guys! (I recommend listening to the Zack Hemsey song first). 
> 
> Now, without further ado, please enjoy the next installment of _'Human Nature'_!

The first thing that Jim is aware of is that it is _hot_. Wherever he is it is sweltering and he can feel the sweat making his back stick to whatever he's lying on. The feeling is unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as the throbbing pain in his temples keeping time with his heartbeat. _**'Goddamn, what the hell did I drink last night?'**_ Jim had had hangovers in the past, but this one was like nothing previous. He hadn't even been this fucked up as a naive pre-teen.

_'Orange blossom tea.'_

The voice comes out of nowhere in Jim's head, making him jump, which was definitely a bad reaction because every sore muscle in his body screams at the movement. He groans, the sound making him cringe as it reaches his own ears. "Spock?" His voice is dry and rasping as he croaks out his lover's name, confused. He hasn't opened his eyes yet, but as he comes around through the haze of sleep and grits through the pain of his migraine, he can swear that his partner is nearby.

And then everything comes back to him. Their dinner out, their conversation, their night in, **the bond**. Licking his dry lips, Jim begins trying to pry his eyelids open, but they seem to be glued tightly shut and he weakly fights to get an arm above the blankets to rub at them, grimacing at the grit he wipes away with one uncoordinated knuckle. "Jesus..." He moans, his head feeling like a bowling ball held up on a swizzle stick as he rolls it across his pillow in the direction of sound. Was Spock even in the room? The sound of the bed creaking and the feeling of weight tipping Jim in the direction of the edge of the bed would suggest so.

_'The pain you are experiencing seems to be a result of our bonding. I apologize, I did not know the intensity with which you would suffer upon waking. I should have medicated you before you regained consciousness.'_ Spock's mental voice sounds somewhat off to Jim, restrained, and distantly Jim can sense of measure of guilt in those words.

"Hey...I asked for this," Jim mutters, wincing, "and you can stop using the bond to talk, I'm a big boy, I won't suffer." He sighs, finally managing to get his eyes open, his arm falling back to lie on the bed. Spock is sitting beside him with a glass of water held in his hands, his head turned as he regards his mate with a stern face and concerned eyes.

"You were unaware of the repercussions. Allow me to alleviate some of your pain," Spock ventures, setting the glass of water down on the nightstand while he reaches for Jim's face with his other hand. Jim catches his fingers on Spock's wrist however, forestalling his intended action.

"No, don't," He mutters, licking his lower lip and wincing as he tastes a bit of a metallic tang there. Did he bite his lip last night?

_'No, you did not.'_ Spock's thought leaks into Jim's mind through the bond, his voice strengthened by their skin touching where Jim rests his hand against Spock's arm. The Vulcan's cheeks take on a faint jade tint, _'I believe that particular transgression was mine.'_

Jim's lips twitch toward a smile. "Kinky," he grunts, shoving an elbow under himself and rolling onto his side and into a semi-sitting position, his body curled toward Spock's at the edge of the bed. "Let me deal with this on my own, yeah? It'll be like having rug-burn after a honeymoon. Every time you feel it, it reminds you of the hot time you had." He smirks at Spock's quizzically arched brow and reaches out for the glass of water on the nightstand, bringing it to his chapped lips. He groans with pleasure as the coolness slides down his throat and quenches the dry desert of his mouth.

As Jim savors his glass of water, his eyes scan Spock and he lazily motions toward Spock's neck just below the curve of his jaw where a dark green bruise has been bestowed in ardor. He chuckles, "Might be a scarf day."

Spock's fingers lift subconsciously, touching the bruise at his neck with another somewhat sheepish glance at his betrothed. "For us both, perhaps."

Jim frowns and wriggles the sheet down off his chest and rolls back onto his elbows with the half empty glass of water forgotten in his hand, inspecting his torso with varying degrees of pride and shock. "Holy shit..." He blinks, surprised at the number of marks across his body. Had Spock really done all that? There were scrapes that Jim assumes were from fingernails etched down his sides and over his rib cage as well as bruises layered over other bruises along his chest and upper arms. And those were just the marks he could see. Other areas of his body were somewhat tender and twisting at the hips reveals he has some rather distinct palm-prints over his backside and hipbones.

Spock rises from the bed, making Jim bounce slightly on the mattress at his sudden departure for their bathroom. "Hey, stop feeling guilty." Jim grins, "That was the best damn night of my life," he laughs.

The faucet squeaks on in the bathroom and Jim lies back, setting the water down on the nightstand with a heavy clatter as his wrist gives out. Casting the sheet the rest of the way off, Jim waves a hand over his face and chest, trying to cool himself down. But then Jim remembers he had turned the heat up downstairs and would have to get up to turn it down again if he wanted to be comfortable.

"It was not my intention to cause you such harm," Spock murmurs, returning with a cloth moistened with cool water. He hands it to Jim, who tips his head into it, wiping it down over his sweaty face.

"Do you hear me complaining?" Jim smiles, shaking his head at his lover's concern. "Did you shower already? Christ, what time is it?" He mutters, turning his head to check the chronometer, eyes widening in shock. "You let me sleep until _nine-thirty_?"

"You needed to rest after such an event and I did not enjoy the thought of waking you. You were...at peace," Spock says with a rueful glance in Jim's direction. "I am drawing you a bath."

Well, that was a thought then. Lazy Saturday baths were definitely something Jim could get behind and having a long soak in hot water sounded like just what the doctor ordered.

Grunting, Jim rolls toward the edge of the bed, coaxing his legs off the mattress and letting them fall to the floor, helping him to lever himself up into a sitting position. He immediately doubles over however, his hands sliding up over his face and along the ridges of his skull. He groans, the throbbing pain in his head intensifying. This migraine was so bad he knew it was going to start making him nauseous soon. Before he could even open his mouth to try and ask for Spock's assistance, the sharp stab of a needle pressing into his neck makes him wince and jerk away. "Ow, fuck. A little warning?" Jim mumbles sullenly, straightening up and rubbing at his neck where Spock had administered a hypo-spray for his migraine.

"Tell me again why you're not in the same boat as me here?" Jim asks as he presses his hands down into his knees, rocking forward to use his momentum to get to his feet. As he straightens, however, he staggers and has to reach out and catch himself on Spock's shoulder, the Vulcan's hands automatically rising to catch him about the waist.

"I have rested and meditated this morning. I was experiencing soreness and a headache also, but I have since brought the reaction under my control." Spock replies, supporting Jim's weight until he finds his footing again.

"Even _you_ had a headache?" Jim looks up at him with wide eyes, "Shit, no wonder I feel like hell warmed over."

"We were engaged in a meld lasting just over five hours, Jim. I am not yet used to the...intensity of our melds," Spock admits as he follows behind Jim on the man's way to the bathroom, his hands clasped cleanly behind his back but his presence that of one of comfort and security. The calm feeling of it washes over Jim across their open bond; Spock's intentions borne of caring. Usually Jim hates anyone fretting over him, it's one of the reasons why he avoids Bones so much when he's injured. But this kind of protective guard at his back is almost reassuring and Jim allows it as he shuffles into the bathroom, his steps heavy and his feet feeling like two blocks of lead.

"Five hours, God...it felt like minutes." Jim huffs, slowly and gingerly bending to sit down on the edge of the tub and leaning down to feel the water's temperature on the back of his hand. The tub is half full, so he shifts to swing his legs over the side but winces as his thighs protest. Apparently, he had been just as rough on himself in the meld as he had been out of it and his legs were sore for his efforts. In some small way, he's a little pissed that Spock doesn't seem too discomfited by his rough handling of the night before. In fact, he isn't even moving gingerly like Jim is. "Sorry uh, was I too hard on you last night?" Jim asks with a half smirk, pushing through the tightness in his leg muscles to swing them over into the tub. He slides down into the hot water with a satisfied hiss, flicking a little water onto Spock's sleep pants just to be petulant.

After arching an unamused brow at his mate, Spock selects a towel from the stack on the shelf and sets it at the edge of the bath, turning to perch alongside it and turn off the water as the tub finishes filling. "No James, I was quite functional this morning."

Jim glowers up at his lover, his legs drawn up with his arms wrapped around them, shoulders hunched. "Liar..." He mutters.

"Vulcans cannot lie, James," Spock argues matter-of-factly, his brows lifted, but Jim can feel a slithering wave of amusement from their bond.

Snorting, Jim stretches out, laying his head across the back of the tub and peering up at his mate, glad for the company. The bond is an...odd sensation at the back of his mind. It's like having a very tiny, but sometimes loud transistor radio in your brain that flicks on randomly or transmits in the middle of your thoughts, causing you to be distracted. "Does it always feel like this?" He asks after a few moments of comfortable silence, reaching for a bar of soap off the ledge and slowly sliding it over his chest and arms. "The bond, I mean?" He clarifies.

"I can teach you to control it, but doing so will take practice. The technique is simple, but the focus required is something you must learn." Spock explains as he shifts along the edge of the bath, eventually claiming the folded towel and perching upon it like Miss Muffet on her tuffet. The sight makes Jim smirk with a shade of smugness Spock dutifully ignores.

"Alright, I'm game," Jim mutters, nodding. Stretching his arms out, he can pick out all the bruises under his flesh as they darken due to the heat of the water. He runs his fingertips over them, matches his digits to the shapes of the ones hard pressed into his biceps from Spock's clutches the night before. It's possessive and primal but Jim cannot help but be satisfied at their appearance. It means one more layer of Spock's secretive self is laid bare for him to see; Spock's pleasures.

"Soon, when you are not so fatigued," Spock promises as he rises to retrieve Jim's shampoo from the shower stall, popping the cap open as he walks back to sit down and motioning Jim to lean forward.

Jim complies, but only after a moment of hesitation as he realizes what Spock intends to do, he's about to have his hair washed for him. Past girlfriends hadn't even ever done this for him and Jim finds it oddly domestic as he scoots forward in the water and leans his head back into Spock's touch as the Vulcan works soap into his blonde hair. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long breath and relaxes into his mate's touch as gentle fingers press along his scalp. "So we're bonded now, like... _really_ bonded?"

"We are betrothed and share a bond as such. But the nature of our bond is...rather rare. It is stronger than any bond I have previously experienced. This morning, when you awoke, you heard my thoughts. That kind of sensitivity can only be present in such a new bond if there is close to one-hundred percent compatibility or very close physical proximity. Given that I was downstairs in the kitchen, it would seem our proximity is no issue," Spock says as he shifts his hand down to the base of Jim's neck, squeezing tired muscles there and feeling Jim relax as they release.

"Mmn," Jim hums, distracted, "I seem to remember you kind of explaining that before, during the meld last night. You called us...T'hy'la?" Jim ventures, the strange word foreign on his human tongue.

"T'hy'la," Spock softly corrects his intended, rinsing his hands in the water at Jim's shoulder and watching his mate tip back to rinse his hair out behind him, his face disappearing beneath now murky water and reappearing a moment later. "I do not know the extent of our abilities together, but it would seem your close association with me has triggered a response in your brain that reacts to my telepathy. I...do not fully understand how, given your very low psi-rating. But it would appear that you are receptive to me." He continues as Jim wipes water out of his eyes and off his mouth, blue eyes blinking up at him.

"So you're the Dr. Jekyll to my Mr. Hyde, then?" Jim teases, knowing the reference goes right over Spock's head when the Vulcan doesn't even bother to reply, simply handing Jim a corner of the towel to use to dry his face.

"There is another matter I wanted to bring up before now, but I have not had a chance as of late, given our differing schedules." Spock begins, his serious tone making Jim sit back in the bath, lining the edge of the tub with his arms and drawing a knee up for comfort, slouching low in the water.

"Okay?" Jim prompts as Spock visibly gathers his words, making Jim arch his brows. It was true, up until last night they had spent very little time alone. Aside from the moments they slept together in bed, David had been their constant companion.

"Monday afternoon, while I was tending to David's injuries after his altercation with the Lannister child," Spock begins, his posture straightening and making Jim nervous, "I noticed a certain...change in the relationship between David and I."

Jim relaxes instantly. He smiles and folds his hands behind his head casually, leaning back and crossing his feet at the ankles beneath the water. "Oh? You mean he's starting to treat you more like a parent than a friend? Because I've noticed that too."

Spock looks away, regarding the tiles at his feet. "Perhaps that is not the entirety of what I mean, but I have also noticed his acceptance of my authority and leadership over him," he agrees, "however, I am referring to the establishment of a bond with him."

"Wait, what?" Jim blinks, then frowns, leaning to the side to fold his arms against the edge of the bath and peering up at Spock, "you have a bond with my son?"

Spock shifts, a spiking feeling of discomfort and uncertainty spiraling down their bond and into Jim, making him purse his lips. "Of a type, yes," Spock endeavors to explain, raising a placating hand toward Jim's shoulder, "it was completely subconscious. I was not aware of its development until earlier this week."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Jim asks, rising up out of the bath, water sluicing down his body and splashing back into the tub as he staggers, then wobbles his way out onto the bath mat. Spock steadies him with a hand on his hip but Jim turns out of it, holding his hand out for the towel folded under Spock's backside. Spock stands to face him and unfolds the towel, holding it outstretched for Jim to drag over his shoulders.

"I-..." Spock swallows and Jim relents, his shoulders lowering as he goes off the offensive, feeling a little guilty for making Spock fear his reaction like this, the flavor of Spock's emotions sharp and bitter in the back of his throat.

"Sorry..." He sighs, wrapping the towel around his waist and folding his arms over his chest, "explain to me exactly what kind of a bond it is you've...unknowingly forged with my son?"

"It is a familial bond," Spock says on a sigh, beginning to relax again as Jim calms.

"Oh." Jim cocks his head to the side, lips parting, "you mean, like something you would have with your father or mother?" He questions.

"Yes," Spock agrees, relief washing over their bond and making Jim shiver. "I was unaware his mind was receptive to subtle telepathy, but it would seem that he finds me agreeable enough to favor my company and...I am beginning to think that my mind instinctively accepted his feelings of solidarity and dependence without my realizing it. I have...grown quite close to David over the years and our close proximity during a formative year back in Iowa and our interactions now that he is older have served to bind us together on a basis of trust." Spock furthers; he had meditated on this matter throughout the week, needing to put into words the brief glimpse of a feeling he had only noted on Monday.

Jim blinks at him, studying Spock in silence.

"Am I being clear, Jim?" Spock asks, a pin-prick of uncertainty returning through the bond as Jim fails to respond immediately.

"So you're saying," Jim says, unfolding his arms and perching his hands on his hips, "that you and David have a bond like father and son and that it developed without your knowing it? How can that be?"

Spock opens his hands in a gesture of the unknown, his arched brows lifting helplessly, "I can only speculate, since I am not versed in the biology and science behind bonds."

"So you can read my son's thoughts like you can mine?"

"No," Spock denies, "more his emotions when he is near me; his presence is known to me on occasion by the color and cadence of his emotions."

Nodding, Jim runs the fingers of one hand through his hair, turning to lean up against the edge of the sink and bracing his hands there. "I suppose that could be beneficial to you both." He says, musing aloud, his tone slow as he ponders. "Given that you don't have many bonds with other minds any longer and your father's-..." Jim trails off, remembering that very memory inside Spock's mind during their meld the other night. That day in the Vulcan's past when his father had completely shut him out, their familial bond going silent, blocked to him. 

The emotions around that memory cut at Jim and he grits his teeth, his fingers curling into a fist around the handle of his comb he lifts to drag through his damp hair. "Let's just get one thing straight here," He says with a weary sigh, regarding Spock in the reflection of the mirror, his posture still stiff, "I wasn't mad because I was pissed about something like a bond between my son and you. Actually, it makes sense to me, I think it's safer that way and it might also make David feel a little more comfortable, like he has a stable family again."

Turning away from the sink, Jim lets the comb fall into to the bowl with a clatter and rubs the back of his neck, a little ashamed of his overreaction earlier, "I was mad because I thought for a second that maybe you had initiated one without talking to me about it. It's something I think David should have had a choice in accepting, if either of you had known about it. But I guess what's done is done. Are you going to talk to him about it?" Jim asks as he bends forward over the sink, turning the faucet on and splashing water over his face and neck, reaching for his archaic little set of razors and shaving cream.

"You...are not angry with me?" Spock ventures, sounding unbearably timid.

Jim shakes his head, "No, I overreacted. For that, I'm sorry," he murmurs, spreading cream over his cheeks and chin.

A warm hand curls over the shape of Jim's shoulder, stilling his actions with a razor just a few inches from his cheek. Jim turns his head to regard his mate who’s serious brown eyes are studying him, feeling him past the surface of his skin and across the tether of their freshly woven bond. "James, I would never embark on such an endeavor knowingly without consulting you for advice on the matter. David is your son, I would not think to overstep my bounds."

"Overstep your-" Jim shakes his head and lowers his razor, lifting the other hand to lay it against the curve of Spock's waist over the cotton of his shirt. "Jesus, Spock, it's alright. I...think I can understand what happened. Losing Vulcan-" He stops abruptly as they both experience a stab of pain and panic at the memory together, the bond feeding their emotions through a swirling kaleidoscope of images regarding the loss of Spock's home planet. They both wince and Jim silently apologizes, dropping his hand. 

"Losing Vulcan," Jim continues, "it cost a great deal and I know now how deeply it affected you. A telepathic being like yourself, it must have caused you to flounder some, attach yourself to whatever open and receptive mind you felt comforted by, right? David...he was first a curiosity, and now he's a permanent fixture of your life. I know you care about him, and apparently a great deal, if you've gone and become his second father." He says this with a small snort, the amusement bleached thin in his voice as his mind still suffers under the memories and emotions surrounding the loss of Vulcan.

"I would not presume such a thing," Spock murmurs, frowning.

"What? Why not? You've more than earned it," Jim says, dipping his razor into the sink now half full of warm water. He shuts off the tap and drags the blade down his cheek, only now realizing that Spock hates the sound of the blade against his stubble; the chafe and grind. He casts his mate a wry smile before continuing.

"I would not expect him to call me by that title, nor would I expect you to refer to me as someone with that status regarding David’s parenting,” Spock argues, confusion blooming through their bond.

"Spock, were a family, have been for quite some time actually. Just go with the flow. We'll let things play out and see how David feels about it. Maybe he'll start calling you 'Dad' on his own, who knows," Jim says with a dismissive shrug, his lips curling into a tight smile as he flattens his upper lip to drag the razor across it.

Jim is met with silence from his partner but he can sense the inner machinations of his mind as he turns that thought over and over again. Spock held some responsibility over David now, especially once Jim had moved him up on the emergency contact list at David's school. If his son and his mate were growing closer, it was all for the better. "I'm sorry I freaked out, I guess when you called it a 'bond' I didn't know what to think. In a way, I thought that maybe it could hurt him," Jim says with a shamed grimace, "I mean, I blacked out when we melded last weekend, what could a bond do to a child? But now that I think about it, humans have bonds after a fashion."

"You speak of the kinship felt between close friends and family members. The strength in a relationship affording trust, loyalty, and love?" Spock questions.

"Yeah." Jim nods, bending to wash the excess cream off his face and patting his cheeks dry with the hand towel hung on the wall. "Like Bones and I. Only there's a lot of anger and annoyance in the mix there. Kind of have to dig down deep to get to the love and loyalty bit," he chuckles; Spock follows him from their bathroom and into their walk in closet where Jim tugs on a pair of briefs under his towel.

"I must admit, I am at a loss as to what to say to David regarding this matter," Spock says slowly, his words careful as he watches his mate for reaction.

"Maybe don't tell him," Jim says with a small roll of his shoulders, pressing his fingers into his eyes as his headache begins to return. Damn did he need a good, strong cup of coffee. 

"Perhaps when he's a little bit older and can understand it better. For now, I think it'd just confuse him. So just...keep me appraised of any more changes on that front, yeah? I want to know about your guys' relationship with one another. I want David to feel safe and protected around you as much as possible."

Spock inclines his head in agreement and Jim begins muttering about a running shopping list in his head and is halfway down the stairs after dressing in jeans and a t-shirt when Spock stops him with another question, "What will we say to David regarding the changed status of our relationship, James?"

"Oh," Jim's steps halt abruptly on the landing of the stairs, his eyes shifting about as he thinks, "umm...I don't know. Christ, let me drink some coffee, maybe my brain will work right after that."

/OoO\

 

Spock had not been fully expecting the right reaction out of Jim regarding the familial bond developing between himself and David. In fact, he had grossly underestimated the possible reactions from his betrothed. Jim's explosion of confusion and worry had thrown Spock for a loop when he had explained the unintentional bond. 

Only now, as they traversed up and down the aisles at the local supermarket for food and party items for David's celebration did Spock realize that the reaction had been completely out of character for Jim. His immediate hostility and mistrust had been...blinding and painful to feel as they invaded their bond and Spock had almost winced, had wanted to pull away and shield himself from those hard and sharp emotions. But he had held onto them and sought to try to understand them. They had no basis in logic and Jim had even apologized, called the matter an overreaction, which could possibly be true if Spock didn't know his mate so well.

Jim had never judged Spock or seen him as alien or different based on his Vulcan abilities, mainly his telepathy. He had never thought to distrust Spock, question his morals or bring into question his character when regarding the use of his telepathy. For Jim to assume that Spock had initiated a familial bond with David deliberately and behind his back, almost as if he were a sinister being trying to manipulate a child was not normal behavior for Jim and Spock had felt fear and uncertainty bubble up inside him when those blue eyes had looked at his with mistrust. 

Why would Jim react in such a way? Spock hadn't understood, had thought that explaining the nature of the bond might place Jim at ease and cause him joy. However, Jim had only felt ashamed at his slip up, and confused, as if he couldn't understand why he had reacted in such a manner, either.

They were silent on the matter, however, as the two of them walked through the supermarket with Spock pushing the cart and Jim combing the shelves for items from the list written in ink on the inside of his palm. Still, Spock couldn't shake the feeling that something else was wrong here. They had bonded, everything had developed naturally and Jim hadn't suffered any long term ill effects over the extended period of time spent in a meld the night before. 

However, Spock found himself returning to that veiled memory of pain and fear in Jim, the one memory he could not access aside from Jim's professional thoughts regarding his work; Spock did not touch those. But this memory...the fear it had ignited in his partner when he had tried to accept and view it, when he had tried to draw his lover into it so they might understand it together---there was such great pain in it that Jim had refused him; had tried to draw away and retreat. Spock had acquiesced to his partner then and had left the memory alone. Now he was beginning to wonder if he might press Jim to explain it to him, to share the pain so they might process it and dismiss it together. Could this pain be affecting Jim even now?

"Spock?" Jim's hand waves a few inches in front of Spock's face, making him blink and turn his head and drawing him out of his worried thoughts. Jim was standing with his hand curled across his chest gripping the opposing shoulder, like it was sore, and Spock got the feeling that this hadn't been the first time his name had been called.

"I apologize," Spock murmurs, turning to give his mate his undivided attention.

"I was asking you if you wanted a fruit tart since David asked for chocolate cake this year," Jim repeats, tipping his head with pinched brows, confused. It wasn't like Spock to be lost in thought in public.

"A fruit tart would be adequate," Spock agrees and they move on, pressing through the bakery and toward the bread aisle.

Later that afternoon, Spock takes his car to pick up David from his friend's house. David climbs into the back seat with his backpack and a wide smile for Spock, which he directs up at the rear-view mirror for the Vulcan's benefit. "Hey, Spock!" He says, shifting to pull his seat belt on.

"Good afternoon," Spock replies, pulling away from the curb as David settles. "Did you enjoy your time with your friend?"

"Yeah, it was awesome!" David says with a tired smile, "we stayed up and played Disco Knights on his holo-link until midnight when his mom told us to go to bed." He says, "I really hope I get a holo-link for my birthday tomorrow, they're so cool!"

"Perhaps," Spock says, knowing full-well what David had gotten for his birthday; or at least what Jim had bought for him. Jim had spent a half hour that morning after returning from the supermarket wrapping his son's gift; a gently used holo-top with a new upgrade to it's system, courtesy of Spock.

"Is everybody coming to my birthday tomorrow?" David asks, his words broken up by a wide yawn Spock can see in the reflection of his rear-view mirror. It would seem a nap would be in order for David this afternoon.

"If you mean 'everybody' to include your father's former bridge crew friends, then yes," Spock corrects, noticing David's quick little fist pump in the air, his excitement pouring like static through the cab of the car.

Spock carries David's bag up the stairs and into the house once they return and Jim comes out of his office to greet them, closing the door behind him. "Hey kid, have a good time?" He asks, beginning a long conversation with David about the child's love of holo-links.

They eat dinner together after David rests for two hours; Jim casts Spock a few glances over the table, his thoughts readily available to Spock through their bond:

_'Should we tell him?'_

_'If you wish it.'_

Jim pulls a face and pushes a leaf of lettuce across his plate with his fork, reaching for his glass of water and hiding behind its rim for a couple of sips before he clears his throat, "Uh, David?"

David looks up, the tines of his fork caught between his teeth, "Mn?"

"You know we're a family, right?" Jim continues, sliding his hands down the outsides of his thighs, shoulders tense with nervousness.

"Yeah." David blinks, dismissing his confusion in favor of stabbing another piece of chicken off his plate.

"What would you think of us being... _more_ of a family?" Jim poses the question, watching his son's face contort into confusion again.

"Huh?"

"Well, what if we made it kind of...official, you know? As in...we officially make Spock a part of our family," Jim continues and clarity shines over David's face before his blue eyes shift to find Spock beside him.

"Oh...yeah!" David agrees.

"Well, Spock and I are...engaged, I guess would be the proper word here." Jim mutters, his words trailing off.

"What, like to get married?" David asks, his eyes shifting back and forth between them both, uncertainty changing the contours of his emotions in his and Spock's familial bond.

_'Do not force the matter, James. Perhaps viewing me as a part of the family is enough for now.'_ Spock warns his betrothed, feeling Jim's conflict over whether to continue or to cease the conversation.

Finally, "Maybe, some day...but not right now. We're just... _together_ right now," Jim finishes, distracting himself with a half-hearted bite of his food.

"Well yeah, everybody knows that," David says with a roll of his eyes, "may I be excused?" He asks, picking up his plate and cup. When Jim gives a weary nod, he scampers out of his chair, taking his dishes to the sink before darting off to his room.

Jim's shoulders slant down in defeat, guilty eyes lifting to view Spock from beneath shadowing lashes, "Well, that could have gone better. I suck at this..." He grumbles, getting to his feet and taking his own plate in for washing.

Spock rises, clearing the rest of the table and joining his mate at the sink as he rinses their plates and places them each into the sanitizing unit. "It will make sense to him some day soon, James. Give him time. I have only been here two short weeks."

"Yeah, I know, but you've been a part of this family for years Spock, even if you weren't physically _here_ ," Jim argues, dragging a sponge over the flatware in his hands.

"That may be true, but David has been growing up under the influence of one parent his whole life; the concept of having two parents may be something he has never thought to consider because he is content in the situation he has now," Spock reasons. Jim's movements slow and finally cease as he lifts his head to regard his Vulcan mate with intense scrutiny.

"He's content? You know that for certain...?" Jim asks, a rare sliver of vulnerability shining deep in the shallows of his eyes.

Spock reaches out to turn off the tap over the sink before removing the forks from his beloved's hands, setting them aside before taking Jim by the hips and leveling their gazes, " _Yes_ , Jim. He is content. He is a happy child."

Jim swallows, emotion thick in his expression and in the depths of their bond, nearly unraveling Spock's composure as a wave of crushing relief and happiness wells up inside his human counterpart. Jim sags forward, laying his forehead to rest against Spock's shoulder and heaving a long sigh, "that's good to hear once and awhile. That he's happy. I mean, I can see it, but after this whole thing with that Lannister kid and David's quiet spells after school I just thought that maybe...maybe he was unhappy and just hiding it really well from me."

Spock shakes his head and presses his hands into Jim's shoulders, forcing his mate to look up at him, "He is content a majority of the time. This week was hard for him and he was upset over the altercation with his bully, but David is a child easily distracted for the better and he enjoys being home. He takes comfort in our presence."

Jim's lips curve into a smile and he stretches up to place a kiss on Spock's mouth, his damp fingers curling into the fabric of Spock's shirt at his sides, reminding Spock of their affection through his touch. "Mn... always know what to say," Jim murmurs as he pulls away, giving his mate a long, appreciative look before taking up the flatware again.

 

That Sunday, as David's guests are arriving for his birthday party, Spock catches Jim in the kitchen amidst the sound of children laughing and conversing in the living room.

"Hey, will you help me with this cake? I've never been a baker or an artist and I didn't have the time to ask one of the store attendants to write David's name on there. Here," Jim turns away from pouring plastic cups of juice and hands Spock a white tube of colored icing.

Eyeing the confectionery device, Spock twists the cap off, pocketing his communicator with his other hand, "I scheduled an appointment for us with the administration at San Francisco Pacific Academy, will you be able to leave work an hour early tomorrow?" Turning, he locates the cake nestled on the counter next to the fridge and lifts the plastic cover, surveying the blank space of frosting he has to utilize. What did one say to a child on a cake? It seemed like a very odd practice.

"Oh! I completely forgot you were going to make that call, shit." Jim murmurs under his breath, half spilling a bag of chips outside of the bowl he was aiming for. "Um, yeah, that shouldn't be a problem. We can meet up there."

"The woman I spoke with seemed pleasant and wished for us to arrive at an hour just before the children are released from their classes so we might see how David's future classroom operates," Spock explains, picking up a pair of scissors and snipping off the plugged tip of the frosting tube, screwing on the plastic nib.

"Sounds like the full tour. I'll pick David up from the sitter's on my way so he can check it out with us," Jim says, distracted as he shuffles together boxes of biodegradable forks and spoons alongside paper plates.

Spock spends another moment considering the cake before finally beginning to write, saying over his shoulder, "There is no need, I shall send Yeoman Nelson to retrieve him so he may travel with me. There is no logic in you returning to retrieve him and requiring you to leave work even earlier than necessary." He pauses, surveying his handiwork. Frosting isn't a very reliable medium, so his words look a little wobbly as they spell out _'Salubrious solar-orbital anniversary, David'_.

Jim's shoulder brushes Spock's as he leans over to take a look at the cake, opening a bag of paper napkins. He pauses, re-reads the lettering on the cake, "That'll do." He says with a snort of amusement, setting a small stack of napkins down on the kitchen island next to the flatware and plates. The voices in the next room get louder as the children play and when Spock glances through the dining room and into the living room, he can see three of the children, including David, playing what looks to be a holo-link. It seemed one of David's friends had brought it along.

"Hey! No cheating!" One of the boys laughs, shoving his opponent with an elbow.

"It's a short cut!" The accused argues.

The doorbell rings and Jim sets his communicator down by the charging dock, "Oh, that's probably the pizza." He mumbles as he goes to answer the door; Spock hanging back in the dining room. Their living room has been taken over by children, it would seem. Some sit on the sofa, others are bouncing on their feet in front of the holo-screen playing their game, while a few others are on their communicators, perhaps speaking to individuals not present.

"Okay, thank you!" Jim calls through the front door as he steps back inside, a stack of square boxes balanced on his arm. Spock steps forward to take the stack. "Alright kids, pizza is here!" Jim says over the din of children's voices, clapping his hands together and motioning Spock into the kitchen. Together, they spread out the boxes of food and Jim passes out plates as David's friends crowd around the kitchen island to select slices of pizza. Jim tries to hand out napkins, but the chances of their furniture and floors receiving crumbs and spills seem high as the kids all disperse about the living room to eat and continue playing their game.

Jim leans his hip against the counter and eats a slice from one of the boxes, rolling his eyes, "I tried..." He mutters at Spock's pointed look. "If the house is going to get dirty, why fight it?"

Spock picks up a disposable fork and lifts the lid of one of the boxes, picking up a plate.

"I bought you a vegetarian one, no sausage," Jim remarks and they both stand over the sink to finish their pieces.

"Are we... 'hiding out'?" Spock asks, casting an amused glance at his mate, who turns a sheepish look his way.

"Not hiding out, Mr. Spock...conserving seating, lets put it that way." He smirks, cursing under his breath when their doorbell chimes again. "Shit, again? Could be Sulu and Chekov..." He grunts, shoving the last bite of his food into his mouth and brushing his hands off into the sink.

Jim welcomes even more guests as Sulu, Chekov, and Dr. McCoy enter the hallway. Spock watches David hand off his controlling device to another child before leaping to his feet and coming to greet his father's friends. "Uncle Bones!" He crows, accepting a hug from the doctor and making his rounds through Sulu and Chekov as well before offering a small smile to Joanna as she slips in behind her father. "Hey." He says, pressing his hands into his pockets, his eyes shifting away.

A look passes between Jim and Spock at their son's behavior and Spock purses his lips as his lover projects a feeling of smug pride:

_'Well, it looks like the charm runs in the family...'_

_'Indeed.'_ Spock replies as David takes Joanna into the living room and secures her a controlling device with which to play the holo-link game.

"Your son had better not have any grand ideas about my daughter, Jimmy," Dr. McCoy drawls, pressing his hands into his jeans pockets. "I don't think he'd want me as a future father-in-law."

"Ah, cut the crap Bones," Jim smirks, keeping his voice down as they all wander into the kitchen, their new arrivals checking out the food. "You'd be tickled pink by it and you know it."

A knock at their front door has Jim heaving a long sigh and raising his voice, "It's open!" he shouts, his hands on his hips. Both Sulu and Chekov grab plates of pizza and nod with mouths full toward Nyota and Scott as the two let themselves in, coming around the corner to see them all clustered about the island.

"Hey!" Nyota smiles, leaning in to give Jim a one-armed hug and touching Dr. McCoy on the shoulder as she wedges her way in to pick up a plate. "Pizza, Jim? Talk about conforming to the stereotype," she teases, grinning at Jim.

"What stereotype?" Jim frowns, drinking juice from a disposable cup.

"The lazy party dad type," Nyota smirks, leaning her head back as she lifts the tail of a piece of pizza toward her mouth for a bite.

"Hey, I'm a busy man...besides, David likes pizza," Jim defends, shrugging.

"You didn't expect a five course meal for a nine year-old, did you?" Sulu chuckles.

"If Dawid were my kid," Chekov pipes up, "ve vould be ha-wing piroshkis."

"I could have made this a potluck guys, be glad I didn't ask you all to bring somethin'," Jim mutters.

"We're just teasing Jim," Nyota rolls her eyes, soothing Jim's ruffled feathers, so to speak.

"Aye, this is a great party," Scott agrees, lifting his cup in a toasting gesture before taking a drink of grape juice.

"Beats Rigellian slugs..." Dr. McCoy comments, casting Jim a sly smirk.

"No, none of that," Jim points a finger out of the hand holding his cup, glaring at his friend, "we agreed never to speak of that."

The celebration continues as David, surrounded by friends and family, blows out the candles on his cake and brings his eighth year to a close, beginning his ninth. The level of excitement ramps up as the time for receiving gifts arrives and they all find places to sit or stand in the living room as David takes up a place of honor on the center of the couch, his two closest friends and Joanna perched at his sides as Jim hands over presents from the stack on the living room table. Every gift is received with joy and pleasure and Spock finds he has to withdraw from his link with David when the child's excitement bursts forth over his father's gift of the holo-top.

With Jim occupied showing his son how to set up the new device, Nyota meets Spock's eyes from across the room and tilts her chin in the direction of the kitchen. Following her wordless invitation, Spock retreats there with her following behind.

"You guys are awfully discrete," She comments, reaching out to pick a bit of frosting off one of the leftover pieces of cake on the kitchen counter. "When were you going to tell everyone?"

He should have known, Nyota's skills in observation and communications surely would also extend to body language. Spock hadn't been far from Jim all afternoon, but there must have been something in the way they carried themselves or turned to one another that had tipped her off. Spock arches a brow, "There was nothing to tell until two days ago."

Nyota beams, very obviously pleased with herself and with them. "You two are adorable," She smirks, shaking her head, causing her hair and earrings to sway, "Are you two doing alright then?"

"We are...content," Spock confirms, his eyes straying past her shoulder and into the living room where Jim is still leaning over his son's shoulder at the coffee table, teaching David how to change settings on the holo-top.

"Does he...get it, then?" Nyota questions, her eyes narrowing, "I mean, he isn't dumb...but he can be obtuse."

Spock tilts his head, regarding her calmly, "He is aware of the bond and what it means for us, yes."

Nyota tears a bit of crust off a pizza slice and follows Spock's gaze toward Jim in the other room, her voice distant, "You know, I never would have thought you guys would make it this far. No offense, but I was kind of waiting for Jim to screw things up somehow and I was worried he would."

"He has changed," Spock remarks, and in the back of his mind he remembers Jim's feelings when finding out about Spock's subconscious link with David; the defensiveness and confusion. He forces those memories aside, chalking them up to James being over tired. They had just bonded, after all. "For the better," He adds at Nyota's arch look of disbelief.

"Yeah, but you can take the farmboy out of the circus...but you can't take the circus out of the farmboy." She replies.

Spock's brows crease in confusion, "The 'circus', Nyota?"

"Nevermind," she smiles, "I'm happy for you guys, I just hope he can handle being happy too. He used to be a little self-sabotaging."

"No harm will come to him, he is my mate." Spock states firmly, watching Nyota glow at witnessing a rare moment of Spock's illogical feelings of protectiveness. Of course Jim would be safe, Spock would never allow anything to happen to him if he could help it. But if that were true...shouldn't he be convincing James to quit his job under Professor T'Mal? That conflict still remained, and yet he could not bring himself to do it, not when Jim was so content after spending a day working on the _'Genesis Project'_.

"David seems happy too," Nyota continues, idly chewing her bite of pizza. "You three are like one pleasant family now," She chuckles, "Are _you_...happy, Spock?" She asks hesitantly, studying his face.

Spock looks away, unable to hold her gaze for fear she might see his consternation over their latest...problems. "I am," He murmurs softly, feeling no shame over admitting his contentedness to her, knowing she would not judge him for failing in suppressing his emotions for Jim and David.

"Good," She says simply after a moment. Their conversation draws to a close as David excitedly calls for Spock, wishing to show him something on his new holo-top.

 

Later that week, after Jim, Spock and David had toured the new school under consideration and met David’s new teacher, David was enrolled. Tuesday night, having spent that whole evening over dinner talking to David about his new school and fielding his questions, Jim and Spock find themselves lying in bed discussing the educational change and David’s reaction to it.

Jim rolls over to face Spock, one side of his face lit by the moonlight, the other half cast in shadows. "You know, I'm kind of thinking this went over a little too easily. Don't you?" He asks, brows drawn together in a deep frown.

"I do not follow you," Spock turns his head, unfolding his hands from where they had been resting against his stomach. "Explain."

"No tantrums, no tears, no fear...David has just kind of accepted that he'll be changing schools; right near the end of the school year, too." Jim sits up, propping his weight on one elbow against their pillows. "If it were me, I'd probably at _least_ be a little scared, at his age. Going to a whole new place, having to start over and make new friends and figure whole new patterns out. There's no soccer team at this school," Jim sighs, "which was my only problem with it, really. But they have other sports, things he'll have to try out for again. God, Spock...what if he chooses wrestling or something?"

"A commendable sport," Spock comments, "do you not remember our hand-to-hand practices in the rec room aboard the ship, Jim?"

A small thrill of pleasure and embarrassment rolls through Jim and Spock is curious at its appearance, frowning a little. "Yeah, I remember, but that's different. We're grown adults, trained in how to defend ourselves. He'd be a plebe," Jim clarifies.

"Everyone must start somewhere, James," Spock points out, watching his love's expression fall toward that of weary acceptance as he nods.

"Yeah, I know. I suppose I was just expecting him to fight us on this for some reason. He's been going to that school for almost three years now." Reaching out, Jim rests a hand on Spock's stomach above the sheets, "bully or no bully, if it were me, I'd have wanted to stay."

"Perhaps he is more...affected by the negligence of his peers and teachers than we have seen," Spock offers, "it is quite possible that he is relieved."

"Maybe." Jim flops onto his back again on the bed and rests his forearm across his forehead, leaning slightly to one side until he can prop his head against the curve of Spock's shoulder. "But do you think that we're depriving him of the chance to grow stronger from this? You know, when I was a kid, I didn't have any defenders. I just had to learn how to deal with the bullies on my own."

"That may be true, however, did you not wish you had someone to defend you in those times, James?" Spock inquires, turning his head until his cheek rests against the crown of Jim's head, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions shudder through his intended.

After a long silence, Jim murmurs, "yeah, maybe. But it did make me stronger for it."

"We cannot protect him from all of life's hardships, but we can try." Spock comments, "do you believe you would be a weaker person today if you had been protected from the harmful words and actions of your peers?"

"No, probably not," Jim admits.

"It is your nature. They did not make you who you are today; I would not give such individuals power over your person. Only you are responsible for the way you have transformed yourself, James," Spock remarks as he meets his mate's eyes in the darkness and is gratified by the kiss he receives as Jim sits up again, hand curving around the side of his face. Understanding and affection laced with warm comfort melts between them and Spock curls an arm over Jim's side, cradling his beloved as they come together in their bed.

"If I wasn't so damn tired, I'd suggest we meld..." Jim murmurs a minute later after they have shifted to rest on their sides facing one another. Warm, human fingers brush the curve of Spock's lower lip with all the reverence Jim can muster and Spock lays his hand on his mate's hip.

"I would much prefer you rest," Spock suggests, experiencing Jim's weariness through the bond and feeling it weigh him down as well.

They both lift their heads in unison at a soft tapping on their bedroom door however, and Jim casts his mate a knowing look as he rolls over, calling out to their son, "What is it, David?"

The child slips into the room, his fingers lingering on the doorknob as he stays in the shadows, his silhouette outlined by the small light on the stairs behind him. Spock can see small shoulders shrugging in the gloom, an uncomfortable shift of the body. Jim sees it too, for he sits up and motions his son forward. David approaches their bed and sinks down on the edge of it, his feet perching on the edge of the bed frame and his hands curling together over his knees.

"Are you nervous for your first day of school tomorrow?" Jim asks and Spock is struck by the way his mate knows his son, their bond running deep.

David nods and Spock feels the sullenness in that gesture; it prompts him to sit up as well as David leans into his father's hand resting against his shoulder.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, David," Jim continues, "you'll be just fine. You'll make friends and catch up in your studies. I'll help you after work tomorrow night and see if we can't finish your homework together. Does that sound alright?"

Turning, David looks across the bed at Spock, the two of them sharing a moment of understanding as Spock interprets the child's discomfort. "It's not just that," David murmurs, his features arranged with sadness, "what's going to happen with my other friends? Will I see them again, you think?" He asks, nervous worry making him tense, his fingers clasped tightly together in his lap.

"Of course you will," Jim frowns, blinking at his son in the dark, "you can hang out with them on weekends if you want, Spock or I can drive you to their houses for visits when we can...and with your new holo-top, you can keep in touch with them." He points out, his words seeming to satisfy David a little, the slope of the child's shoulders lowering as relief begins to chase away his worry.

"What if they...don't want to keep being my friends?" David asks, hurt by his own words spoken aloud.

"Then they are not true friends of yours," Jim points out, though his words don't satisfy much as David nods slowly. "Here, c'mere..." Jim murmurs, tugging on his son's arm until he twists to lay on his side in their bed, Jim's arm curling behind his shoulders, his hand in his son's hair. "If you don't like the school after a week...Spock and I will find you another place to go instead, how's that agreement sound?"

"Yeah...okay," David agrees.

"Okay," Jim murmurs, turning his head to meet Spock's gaze as they both settle back in bed again. His fingers curl around Spock's against the mattress between them, his voice coming through their bond with weariness in being right:

_'I suppose he's more like me than I'd like to admit sometimes...'_

_'He is of your blood, Jim.'_

Jim's lips curl up in a small smile before his eyes close, the three of them finding rest in each others company.

 

The week continues without further event or elevated stress as David embarks on a new path in his life, enjoying his new school and regaling both Spock and Jim with stories of his time spent there. Jim seems relieved that David is growing comfortable at his school and that the first two days, at least, bring no negative developments as they settle into a new routine. Spock takes David to school in the morning and Jim picks him up in the evening, allowing Spock more time at the office to complete his work before returning in time for dinner.

Spock makes an effort to contact his father at the Vulcan Consulate, but it would seem his father is busy, for he receives no return call until Thursday morning, when the contact comes in the form of his father visiting his offices at Central Command. The visit is without appointment and, at first, Spock is confused when Yeoman Nelson's voice sounds through the communications device on his desk, her words tinged with uncertainty.

"Sir, Ambassador Sarek is here to see you, but he has no appointment. Shall I schedule one for him at a later time?"

Spock stiffens, but not because she may presume he does not wish to speak with his father, but because it had been two days since Spock had left his message for Sarek at the Consulate. 

What had kept his father from returning his call? If Sarek were to be believed, the subject matter of their discussions was important and whatever information he might have on Professor T'Mal was deemed valuable. Had he received the wrong impression from his father regarding this issue?

"Negative. He may enter," Spock replies, hearing footsteps a moment later indicating his father's approach. Instead of standing, Spock remains sitting at his desk, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back in his chair as Sarek’s silvered head appears behind the opening door.

They do not speak until Sarek crosses the room, coming to stand before his son's desk, ignoring the presence of chairs behind him in favor of facing Spock directly, "My son," he begins, changing Spock's impression of this visit, "I apologize for not contacting you sooner, I was being cautious."

"Was further caution necessary?" Spock asks, leaning forward to place his folded hands along the edge of his desk, head tipped in curiosity. Had his father been indisposed somehow?

"It was," Sarek continues, "for I have been under investigation."

Spock's blood freezes like ice in his veins, intrigue and worry making his brows pinch, displaying his concern despite his best efforts, "by whom?"

"By Starfleet," Sarek answers, shocking Spock further.

"Regarding the matter of Professor T'Mal?" Spock questions.

Sarek pauses, glances toward the corners of Spock's office and then back at his closed door before he asks, "is this place safe- guarded against espionage?"

"Affirmative," Spock replies, driven to stand and regard his father fully, noticing the slightly yellowish bruising beneath the elder Vulcan's eyes; Sarek has not been resting well. "Why have you come under investigation, Father?"

"I believe your superiors are growing concerned with my level of interest in the Professor. I have determined there must be something to hide if they are so intent on keeping me from finding out about the actions of one of my own people." Sarek's fingers fold together loosely before him, the long sleeves of his Vulcan robe arranged neatly.

Spock steps away from his desk, turning his back on his father to approach the windows overlooking Starfleet campus. "I have visited the compound."

Sarek may not look surprised, but Spock can sense it as his father hesitates before speaking, his words careful, "Were you seen?"

"There was a moderate level of security, but not of the highest grade. There were cameras, but I was accompanied by James, I was not alone. My presence would not seem odd if the circumstances for it were known. James wished me to see where he worked and I met the woman called T'Mal." Spock's hands fold together behind his back, his grip tight, shoulders rotated back.

"Perhaps it was not best for you to come here," Spock continues, turning to glance over his shoulder at Sarek, "if we are thought to be associated in this endeavor together, it could bring both of us down. If I am ordered to cease and desist regarding my research into Professor T'Mal, I will have no choice but to follow those orders."

"What information have you uncovered, Spock?" Sarek asks, rounding the desk to stand a few paces behind Spock, the hem of his robe rasping on the carpet beneath his feet.

"Nothing that could be called fact, Father." Spock turns his back to the window and lets his hands fall to his sides, fingers curling into fists as he remembers the emotions present in Jim during their visit with T'Mal and his alarming blankness upon their leaving. "Though our visit was strange...and in some cases, worrisome; I have no solid evidence that Professor T'Mal is doing anything more harmful than constructing a replicator."

Sarek's eyes drop to the floor, the only outward appearance of disappointment that Spock can discern. "I see. What has troubled you about the Professor?"

"Not only does she seem...emotionally uncontrolled at times, but the way James reacts around her has alerted me to the possibilities of greater danger," Spock informs his father, watching Sarek's eyes narrow a fraction in thought.

"Explain," Sarek prompts and Spock begins to relate the whole conversation with the Professor in great detail, including the slight argument involving her project which Spock had initiated.

"A utopia..." Sarek repeats, turning to pace away from Spock, his steps slow and measured. 

"Her words were not founded in logic."

Spock gives a single shake of his head, "No, they were not. In fact, they were quite emotional."

"And you say James Kirk is uncomfortable in her presence?" Sarek begins, "Even though he has been in her employ for months now?"

"Affirmative," Spock replies, "Upon leaving her offices, he had the strangest reaction of all."

Sarek's head turns to survey his son, lips tightly pursed as he wordlessly bids Spock to continue.

"He ceased to...exist, for a moment, it would seem. I have witnessed instances in Jim where he will be silent and unmoving, staring into the distance. Usually such reactions are due to higher levels of stress or fatigue, of which Jim was only experiencing the smallest fraction of at the time." Spock rests his hands on the back of his desk chair, his grip tight; worried.

Sarek's brows draw together slightly, wrinkling his brow and turning his features severe, "When you say he 'ceased to exist', do you mean that in a literal sense, or a more metaphorical sense?"

"Both. James was no longer processing, his mind was inaccessible to me, his stare...vacant. He did not respond to me when I called his name," Spock explains.

"I see."

"When I looked for a source of his reaction, the Professor...she was visible in the window above our heads." Spock lowers his eyes, regarding his desk terminal, "Perhaps I could be inferring from nothing, but it would seem as if her effect on him extended beyond that of the physical. I am...concerned," He admits.

"Have you melded with him, my son?" Sarek asks.

"I have. We are...betrothed," Spock says softly, expecting to see something change in Sarek. But nothing happens, dark eyes remain impassive and distant, posture tense but controlled. If Sarek experiences any reaction to the news of his son's betrothal, he makes no outward display of it.

"I will notify our clan mother," Sarek responds, "Do you seek my counsel on this matter?"

After a pause, Spock inclines his head, "I do."

"My advice...remove James from this situation with the Professor, she appears to affect your bondmate adversely," Sarek comments, a statement that Spock is beginning to agree with.

"Do you believe she may have injured James in some way?" Spock asks, true fear twisting his guts.

"There is not enough evidence to support that claim, but if you are concerned, as your mate, James is required to at least hear your plea and consider its logic. No good comes from secrets, my son..." Sarek's words cause Spock discomfort, because in a way, he _had_ been lying to Jim, or at least lying by omission.

"He may refuse," Spock says slowly, knowing James and knowing his personality, "he has less than a week's involvement left with the project."

"If he cannot be convinced...perhaps suggesting that he arm himself for his own protection would not be illogical," Sarek returns, "I have begun to see the vastness of this web of danger we have involved ourselves in and I have theorized we may not be the only people interested in the discoveries of Solen T'Mihn T'Mal."

Spock stands in silence as his father turns and leaves, feeling drained from the conversation and his new worries involving Jim. Could Starfleet be the only funding source for this Vulcan woman's endeavors, or were there more hidden players in this dangerous chess game? Pursing his lips, Spock checks the hour and opens a call through to his Yeoman, "Yeoman Nelson," he addresses, waiting for her reply, "Cancel my appointment with Rear Admiral Haynez and reschedule it at his convenience. I have other matters to...attend to." Spock gathers his things, tucking his PADD and hat beneath his arm and passing one last look around his office. Was it safe holding these kinds of discussions with Sarek here? He had made a full sweep of the office with his tri-corder and found no hidden devices, but perhaps he had not been thorough enough? Could he be inadvertently causing himself and James more danger?

With a knot of fear in his stomach, Spock leaves his offices, bidding Yeoman Nelson a curt farewell until morning before crossing the hall to the officer's turbolift. He rides alone in silence, glancing up at the camera in the corner of the small lift with a feeling of apprehension. In his mind, he can feel the bond, feel Jim hard at work, the activity of his mind like background noise in a busy room, serving to calm Spock somewhat as he crosses the vast lobby of Central Command and emerges out into the sunshine. 

Taking a deep breath, Spock tips his hat onto his head and turns in the direction of the parking lot. Perhaps spending the day in meditation would do him well, give him a chance to piece together the manner in which he might confront James about his worries regarding their last meeting with Professor T'Mal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	12. The Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that every question answered uncovers a new set of unanswered ones to take their place as Spock confronts Jim about his concerning behavior while in the company of Professor T'Mal. However, a new crisis emerges...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm super stoked to be posting this chapter today, I'm really interested to know what you guys think of this twist in the plot! We get pulled deeper into the mire that is my rewritten version of the events concerning the _The Genesis Project_. There is a minor violence warning for this chapter, but I don't think it's anything more intense then your classic James Bond movie, so I wouldn't be alarmed. 
> 
> I want to offer my thanks to my lovely beta reader, as always, for her undying support and speediness. It seems to become the norm for us to race each other to the finish line with me writing while she edits the final days of the week so we can have another update ready for you guys. But don't worry, as difficult as it was writing this chapter, I still had a lot of fun with it! So thank you [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate)!
> 
> Also, wanted to make a quick mention about the fanart for this chapter! It is a drawing of David and _Spock's_ hand (or at least it's supposed to be...), not David and Jim's. I think hands are so interesting and two hands clasped is so sweet. However, in this case, it could be more like a comfort.
> 
> Want to mention another thank you to my beta [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate) for her music rec, of which you will find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Uw8mIcQJn8). It's a good song for the beginning of this chapter entitled _'Pieces'_ by **Red**. Her second music rec for this chapter is also perfect, so I will share it with you guys [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSvOTw8UH6s), a song entitled _'My Demons'_ by **Starset**. So kudos to her for finding such great music pertaining to this chapter! I'm really flattered and grateful. =] 
> 
> Alright, that's the end of my blathering, so please enjoy the next installment of _'Human Nature'_! Let me know what you think in the comments below. =]

**Take My Hand**

Fan-art by ChemicalOrgasm

Spock’s awareness emerges through the surface of his meditations later that afternoon and he is cognizant of a ringing in his ears, very faint and low pitched. He opens his eyes, slipping out of the mental disciplines instilled in him since childhood. It is quiet in the house save for the background noise of one house cat still lightly scratching on the closed door to the office. Spock sits and savors it for a moment, the ringing in his ears ceasing as he takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand with a familiar ache that speaks of long hours of shallow breathing.

Licking his lips, he consults his internal time sense before glancing up at the chronometer on the desk across the room to confirm the hour. He has been sitting in meditation for an hour and a half, and yet feels no closer to solving his problems than when he had started. Lips thinning into a grim line, his fingers curl over his open palms and form frustrated fists. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to have a conversation with James again. He had no idea how his mate would react, nor did he like to think about it too deeply. He would just have to deal with the fall out later if Jim became angry or annoyed.

Also to be considered was the topic of Jim’s concerning behavior while in the presence of Professor T'Mal, and then...when out of her presence afterward. Spock can still see Jim's vacant blue eyes, no light in their depths as he stared out across the parking lot of the compound, unresponsive. The image twists Spock's stomach with sickness.

As he is about to get up to let the insistent Snowy into the room, Spock hears the garage door downstairs give a low rumble as it opens. Getting to his feet, he stretches and rolls his shoulders, circling his head on his neck to disperse the tension in his muscles until he is comfortable again. He is just turning to close the box of his incense sticks when he hears the door down the hall open, two pairs of footsteps clattering on the last step into the house.

"Well, if you get started on that homework right away, maybe we'll have time to download that software onto your holo-top like you wanted, alright?" Jim says, obviously his addition to an ongoing discussion. Spock hears the door close and David's footsteps approaching down the hallway first, his tread heavy, no doubt laden down with his school bag and lunch box.

"Do I have to do the English paper tonight?" David groans, his voice louder, sounding from just across the hall from Spock. "It's not due until next Tuesday."

"At least make an outline, bud," Jim replies, his voice muffled, sounding from the kitchen.

Knowing that James had to have seen his vehicle in the garage, Spock stoops to roll up his mat and place it beside the chair on his rug. His socked feet brush along the hardwood floors as he approaches the door, opening it and pausing to let Snowy rub her fur across the bottom hem of his meditation robe as she greets him. Looking down at the feline, Spock receives a petulant meow before the animal slips into the office past his leg, making a bee-line for the arm chair.

Jim's head appears around the corner of the kitchen entryway, his brows lifted in surprise, "Hey...you're home early," he states, blinking.

The corners of Spock's lips turn down as he inclines his head, lacing his fingers together before his stomach and pacing down the hall to face his mate, "Obviously," he comments, feeling bemusement and wry humor from his mate across their bond.

"Well, I wasn't expecting sassy Spock for dinner, but I think I can set another place," Jim teases as he turns around, heading back into the kitchen and starting up the stairs to their room.

Arching a brow at his lover's antics, Spock selects a glass from a cabinet and fills it with water, quenching his thirst with slow sips. When Jim returns downstairs, he has removed his uniform, having changed into a comfortable pair of worn jeans and a loose shirt with a logo unknown to Spock emblazoned across the back.

"So...were you not feeling well or something?" Jim questions as he passes by Spock to get to the fridge, opening the door and leaning down to peer into its confines. "It's not like you to beat me home like this."

Setting his glass of water down on the kitchen island, Spock turns and leans his hips up against the counter's edge, resisting the urge to take up a defensive position with his arms crossed over his chest. "I left early so I would have the time to meditate on a few matters while the house was still quiet. After another meeting with my Father, I thought the extended period of meditation would be beneficial."

"Oh? Why did Sarek drop by your office? I doubt he was bringing you a 'settling in' gift..." Jim mutters, pulling out a bag of pre-risen pizza dough from the fridge and tossing it onto the counter next to Spock before going back for a block of cheese.

"It was not a social call, no," Spock agrees, "although, perhaps I should be more forthcoming about my last meeting with my Father before telling you about today."

Jim's eyes appear over the edge of the open fridge door, narrowed and confused. "What do you mean? I thought you told me about that already?"

Spock carefully withdraws himself from his end of their bond, concealing his emotions and the fascinating appearance of guilt he feels as he watches Jim straighten, his expression going blank.

"Alright, so obviously you didn't feed me the whole story. What's going on?" Jim prompts him, folding his arms across his chest and closing the fridge with a motion of his hip.

Drawing his mental shields up, Spock fortifies himself with what he knows; logic. He should proceed logically and chronologically. Straightening himself up from his lean against the counter's edge, Spock faces his intended. "What my Father wished to speak with me about last week was... Professor T'Mal." Watching as more confusion twists Jim's features, Spock presses on, explaining, "It would seem that the Professor left the colony on less than favorable terms."

Jim cocks his head to the side, "Okay...so she ditched her people, is that such a big deal?" Turning, Jim picks up the bag of dough and rips into it as he crosses the kitchen, opening a drawer to fish out a rolling pin and bringing it back to the kitchen island with him. "Tell me everything you know about her then. Or everything Sarek knows, anyway."

"There is not much information about her, particularly now that she is protected by Starfleet. However, I will start at the beginning of what we know. Professor T'Mal was Chief Science Officer aboard the Vulcan Science vessel Ni'Var during the destruction of Vulcan. Prior to that, she had a promising career and had been recognized for her achievements by the Vulcan Science Academy. However, when Nero struck, she lost everything." Spock watches as Jim drags the dough out of the bag and slaps it onto the counter, hunting down some flour to spread out before kneading the dough.

"Alright...but she isn't alone in that, millions of Vulcans were killed in the destruction of Vulcan, there were many refugees who suffered and lost everything. She seems to be doing alright now..." Jim defends, frowning. He shoves his fists into the dough, pummeling it.

Feeling a muted echo of Jim's emotions through their bond, Spock holds back a wince as sharp annoyance spikes through him from Jim. However, he presses on, "She was bonded, James." Jim pauses his assault on the pizza dough, looking up at Spock and wiping the back of his wrist across his jaw and chin, smearing a bit of flour over his skin. "Oh...and he was-"

"He was on Vulcan during the time of its destruction; one of the many lost," Spock clarifies, inclining his head out of respect and feeling Jim's emotions begin to mellow out toward that of pity.

"That had to have been hard..." Jim murmurs, picking up the rolling pin and pressing it down into the dough, working it out across the counter top.

"I realize that I have not fully explained the...possible repercussions of a severed bond, James." Looking away, Spock braces his hands against the counter. "My bond with T'Pring did not run very deep, however I did feel the moment she died; the bond snapped apart." He could still remember the backlash, the harsh bite in his head like the snap of an elastic band across his senses. He was lucky he had held very little emotional attachment to her, otherwise he would have been compromised right then and there and been unable to function, even after Jim had assumed command of the _Enterprise_.

Jim's movements with the rolling pin cease suddenly and for a moment, Spock sees the color drain from Jim's face, his eyes directed down at the kitchen island. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Spock reaches out to place his hand over Jim's wrist, squeezing it until he has his mate's attention.

"You can imagine the...pain and suffering one can feel at the time of a bond's abrupt end. It has been known to cause...insanity in some of us, even death." Swallowing, Spock releases Jim, his lover's shoulders slumping, a flicker of nausea rippling through their bond from Jim.

"Shit...yeah, that-...that's-" Jim stammers, pushing his fingers back through his hair and smearing flour over his blonde locks. Grimacing, he wipes his hand down the side of his jeans, raising his eyes toward Spock, "So...you think she might still be suffering from the effects of a severed bond? Wouldn't she have sought help from your mind-healers?"

"She did." Spock nods, "she returned to Earth to seek assistance and refuge, as did the other four-hundred and ninety crewmen and women aboard the Ni'Var. She traveled to the new colony as soon as it was selected and even helped with the infrastructure of our growing cities there. However, the majority of her time was spent in careful isolation and meditations under the watch of our healers."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here..." Jim sighs, folding his arms down on the counter top and leaning upon them.

"Indeed. She may have sought healing at one time, but for whatever reason, she left the colony before it was determined that she was entirely sound of mind and body and it was safe for her to depart. With her went two other Vulcans, have you met them?" Spock asks, studying Jim's face carefully.

Frowning, Jim shakes his head, "She's the only Vulcan who works at the compound. The majority of us are human, there is a Betazed and an Andorian...but otherwise we aren't too diverse." Picking up the rolling pin, Jim resumes his work over the dough.

"I see." That information was concerning to him, for what had happened to those other two Vulcans? Where had they gone after leaving the new colony? Sarek had been unable to track them; hadn't even mentioned them to Spock until that day in passing, his brows heavy with consternation when he said:

 _'Be cautious, Spock. She may be in league with two males who also left the colony at the same time.'_ Sarek's gaze had lingered on his son, his hand hovering above the knob of Spock's office door before he had departed, his robes shifting heavily behind him.

"Alright," Jim's voice cuts through Spock's thoughts, "but a severed bond doesn't exactly make her malicious...right? What does any of this have to do with you or your Father?" He argues.

Spock sucks in a slow breath and continues explaining, "My Father may not be entirely forthcoming with what information he has, however...I do trust his reasons for concern. I, myself, witnessed some disturbing behavior when meeting the Professor."

"Disturbing behavior?" Jim interrupts, his voice high with confusion and disbelief, "What 'disturbing behavior'? She was as polite and collected as any Vulcan!"

Inclining his head, Spock tilts it in confusion of his own, in slight wonderment over how oblivious Jim seems to be in this matter. It was not like Jim to be this blind to a danger placed right before him, "She was...agitated, perhaps you did not witness it, but I could see her disturbance, even before she began her emotional defense regarding her project. She would not have any criticism of it, nor would she let us hold our own opinions on the matter of its success."

Jim rolls his shoulders in a shrug, "So? So she argued with you, I would have too."

"Yes...but you are human, it is more your nature to grow irritated when met with opposition. A Vulcan...would simply make logical counter arguments to defend a subject. T'Mal was... noticeably disturbed."

Narrowing his eyes, Jim looks away, seeming to dig through his memories of the event to find them lacking, and heaves a long sigh, "Okay, but what does any of this have to do with me? So she's a little unstable, it doesn't mean her work is-"

" _Jim_." Spock's eyes widen, unable to believe Jim was simply about to brush off the seriousness of T'Mal's instability. "If she is not in her right mind, she is liable to make mistakes in her research. In fact, this whole project could be in jeopardy if she were to make a single mistake. I may not know what you have been constructing, but it's similarity to a weapon is concerning."

Jim blinks, growing still, and for the first time in a long time, Spock feels a pin prick of fear across their bond, constricting his chest as Jim's eyes reflect the emotion. "I still don't-" he begins, his words soft, gaze distant.

"You do not seem to be aware of the manner in which you conducted yourself when in her presence either, James." Spock presses on, rounding the corner of the kitchen island to wrap his hands around his mate's arms, tugging him around to face him and watching Jim recoil, his face transforming into stone even as his emotions turn erratic. Jim’s feelings cycle through fear and confusion over and over again, but it isn't until the pain darts down their bond, cruel and quick like the snap of a whip, that Spock releases his lover with a wince, his fingers lifting toward his temple as Jim does the same.

" _Shit_ ," Jim hisses, bracing his elbows on the edge of the counter, his head in his hands, "what are you _talking_ about, Spock?" He growls, teeth gritted as another wave of pain throbs in his head, bringing with it a feeling of nausea. Spock throws up his mental defenses to keep Jim's sudden migraine from reaching him across the bond.

As he pushes through his growing worry, Spock says, "You were afraid of her; you were tense the entire time we were in her presence and she regarded you with very little respect considering how many months you have been in her employ. I have never gotten the impression that you feared her until we were in her office, James. There is also the incident in the parking lot."

Jim sinks into a crouch on the floor, leaning his head against the cabinets on the kitchen island and locking his fingers together at the back of his head. Spock immediately falls to his knees on the floor, reaching out toward his mate as his own fear begins to twist into his guts like a knife, "Jim-"

" _I'm fine!_ " Jim snaps, the stark emotion in his voice causing Spock to snatch his hand back in shock, pursing his lips together thinly.

"You most certainly are not..." Spock argues softly, brown eyes sharp, alert. "You truly are not aware of the way you acted? Nor of the sudden...vacancy you experienced when we left Professor T'Mal's company?"

Jim doesn't lift his head, but his shoulders seize up uncomfortably, his hands sliding away from his neck to coil together in his lap, turning into clasped fists. He begins shaking his head, slowly at first, and then harder as he suddenly surges to his feet, having to grasp the edge of the counter to keep his balance as he staggers away, putting the kitchen island between himself and Spock.

Slowly rising, Spock lets Jim retreat, but draws him back into the conversation with a single word, "T'hy'la..."

Jim's head snaps up, lips parted wordlessly, head aching, and Spock can see the shock and fear in his eyes once more. Slowly, the terror and pain begins to melt from Jim’s expression, only to be replaced with disorientation and exhaustion and Spock quickly rounds the kitchen island and grasps Jim's arm just as his mate begins to collapse forward again. He takes the brunt of his weight as the man sags, his head canting back limply as his blue eyes lose their light again.

Clasping his mate to his chest, Spock lowers them both to the kitchen floor, cradling the back of Jim's head and looking into his face with growing worry. "Jim... _Jim_." He pleads, bending toward his mate's face in an effort to get his eyes to focus on him. But they remain vacant, a dull blue until they slide shut. The remaining tension vibrating in Jim's limbs suddenly vanishes and Spock supports his partner against his shoulder, swallowing down a wave of sickness coupled with his fear as his questions go unanswered and new, worse ones follow in their wake.

"Spock…?"

Spock becomes very still, feeling shocked that he could have forgotten about David. Turning his head, he views the child standing just inside the kitchen doorway, most likely having heard the commotion and come to investigate. David takes in the sight of his father collapsed against Spock on the floor and moves a step into the kitchen, only to be stopped by Spock's voice, firm and commanding.

"David, I need you to get your Father a glass of water and a cool cloth from your bathroom. Will you do this for me?" Spock shifts, turning his shoulder to block part of the view of Jim's face from David's gaze.

The child nods slowly, a look of confusion and concern on his face until resolve and determination win out and he quickly scurries to the cabinets behind Spock for a glass. While the child is occupied, Spock slips an arm beneath Jim's legs and sweeps them to the side with some effort, lifting his partner off the floor in an awkward hold, given that Jim is not hanging onto him.

Spock carries his mate into the living room and lays him down upon the sofa, arranging him comfortably there and tugging the blanket off the back to drape across Jim. Laying his hand over Jim's forehead, he feels for an elevated temperature but does not find one. David brings the glass of water a moment later and Spock takes it, setting it aside on the coffee table and, taking a seat right beside it, reaches out to take Jim’s pulse beneath the line of his jaw.

At his shoulder David asks, "What happened?" Spock straightens, torn between caring for Jim and comforting David, whose agitation is only increasing as he tries to understand the situation. "What's wrong with Dad?"

Remembering that touch comforts the child, Spock lays his hand over the back of David's shoulder blades and explains, "He is...overtired. Your Father needs to rest. Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your room for now."

David shakes his head, a stubborn frown changing his features into a mask of determination. "No...I don't want to, I want to stay here with Dad."

Spock deliberates, looking back down at Jim’s face slackened in unconsciousness, finally nodding in agreement. "Very well. Bring your homework out into the dining room and you and I can both keep watch over James while he rests."

Hesitating, David lingers until the Vulcan gives the child a slight nudge. "Nothing will change in the few minutes it takes you to retrieve your work."

With a solemn nod, David turns and hurries down the hall toward his room. Spock slips off the edge of the coffee table and onto his knees on the floor, leaning toward his mate and lifting his eyelids, searching for signs of anything worse than a headache and stress causing this reaction.

Somehow, in the back of his mind, he knows he won't find anything, just as he hadn't found any reason for Jim's brief period of blankness back at the compound. Cautiously, he lowers his mental defenses from around their bond. He can still sense Jim, even though his mind is withdrawn, all thought extinguished and replaced by the simple flickers and echos of a mind at rest. Jim does not respond when Spock softly calls his name again.

He is about to place his fingers over the meld points of Jim's face when Spock senses David’s return. David is hovering in the entrance to the living room, his books haphazardly clutched in his hands and pressed against his chest. Straightening up from leaning over Jim, Spock nods and wordlessly urges the child toward the dining room. " _David..._ "

He waits until the boy rounds the corner into the dining room before placing his hand over Jim's face again, fingers spreading out of habit to mold to the shape of Jim's cheek and forehead. 

When he touches Jim's mind through their bond, he is met with no response, the effect similar to walking into a dark, empty room. Spock's concerns grow even more, however, when he tries to access his partner's memories of the argument which had just taken place, only to find them inaccessible, protected. Jim’s mind is turned inward and away from Spock, withdrawn to such a degree that Spock would have to force his way much deeper into his mate's mind for answers.

A distant voice distracts Spock in the meld, a small...tiny voice garbled as if heard beneath water, "Is he going to be okay?"

Spock surfaces from the meld and opens his eyes to see David standing at the head of the sofa next to Spock, his own hand laying over the top of his father's head, as if he too might sense the disturbance in the man's mind. It isn't the question, but the raw emotion in David's expression that has Spock reacting, reaching out to draw the child into his side in an awkward embrace. 

David melts under the comfort however, laying his head against Spock's shoulder, his hand trailing down Jim's body to grasp at his father's arm resting beneath the blanket.

"He will be...functional once he wakes," Spock assures David, getting to his feet and leading David from the living room, having to grip the child's shoulder in order to get him to leave Jim resting on the sofa.

With all the reluctance of the world, David seats himself at the dining room table before his homework and picks up a pencil. Spock rests his hands on the back of David's chair and turns his gaze toward the motionless figure of his mate in the other room, then silently watches as David turns his mind toward his academics.

Dinner remains unfinished for a while as Spock sits at the table with David, helping him with his homework. It's only when David remarks that he has grown hungry that Spock goes to survey the mess of dough, now flat and unusable on the kitchen counter. Suppressing a sigh, Spock turns toward the fridge and last night's leftovers, plating up spaghetti for David and warming it in the microwave. It is while David eats that Spock feels the first stirrings of consciousness across his bond with Jim and he's barely entered the living room when Jim seems to come to life upon the sofa. His breathing grows deeper, eyelids flickering, head turning as he frowns in confusion, his limbs fighting the blanket tucked around him.

When Spock peels the blanket back to free Jim's arms, his mate's eyes open, blearily looking around without comprehension for a moment until they land on Spock. The question doesn't even have time to pass his lips before Spock answers, "You fell unconscious again." Pitching his voice low and out of David's range, Spock murmurs, "After experiencing great pain and distress during our discussion."

Pressing one hand to his forehead, Jim manages to get an arm braced beneath him, rolling into a half sitting position on his side. "Christ..." he murmurs, wincing. Spock can feel the ache in his mate's head across their bond and as David scurries into the room, the Vulcan plants the child beside his father on the sofa and departs for their bathroom upstairs to retrieve a hypo-spray for migraines. He administers it to Jim once he returns, David having convinced his father in the interim to drink some water.

"Spock says you're super tired..." David begins, wanting corroboration from his father of Spock’s explanation.

"I'll be fine, David," Jim comforts instead, dragging his fingers through David's hair, "go finish your homework, okay?"

Jim's eyes shift up to look at Spock, a frown drawing his brows together as David trudges back into the dining room. "That's twice in two weeks now..." Jim murmurs, shaking his head and laying back down against the sofa cushions, dragging his hands down his face. "I used to get totally wasted and never black out like that. What the hell is going on?"

Spock turns to perch lightly on the edge of the sofa next to Jim, studying his mate closely, "It is...quite possible you have experienced some kind of emotional or mental distress recently and it is manifesting itself in this fashion. However," Spock pauses and looks away, conflicted. Should he tell James of the details of his episode? Or would reminding him of the confusing fear and pain only trigger another response like the last?

Jim blinks up at him, waiting, "What?" He prompts, reaching out to lay his hand against Spock's leg, fingers curling in the material of Spock's meditation robe.

Fear is a terrible motivation. Spock shakes his head, ending his trail of thought. Jim frowns, but lets the subject drop, sighing instead. "Alright...so what do you want me to do then, quit the project?" Jim asks, as if continuing their conversation from the point before Spock had made his grave error; had mentioned Jim's conduct around the Professor. "I really don't want to, even if you thinks she's crazy...if I quit, I won't get the full paycheck." Jim's lips twist in shame, "no, I'm not some money grubber now...but that money," he sighs, "it was going to go straight into David's college fund. I had to," he lowers his voice, sadness and regret tinging his words, "use most of it to buy this house when we moved back here to San Francisco. What I had left of the pension wasn't enough, so I dipped into my savings. It'll only be another ten years or so before he's going to be applying for universities, I had hoped to be able to have at least the first year's tuition saved up."

Spock arches a brow, "You are no longer alone James, our finances are sound. I, too, have savings I can contribute to David's education."

"I...could never ask you to-" Jim begins, the sallow color of his cheeks beginning to turn pink.

"You do not need to ask, I offer it freely. If it is concern for the money which would prevent you from quitting the job, there is no need for it. I meant what I said about becoming a permanent part of this family. I shall contribute," Spock argues. Jim's eyes close and Spock feels a momentary sweep of relief descend over his partner, replaced by love and gratefulness as Jim shifts to sit up and brushes his lips against Spock's cheek.

"Alright...fine, you win." He sighs, laying his cheek against Spock's shoulder, "I'll tell her I'm resigning when I go in on Tuesday, okay?" Spock nods and Jim reaches for the glass of water again, taking a sip.

"Thank you...James," Spock murmurs, but is strangely still dissatisfied. Whatever has happened to his mate to cause these reactions when confronted with his earlier behavior still has not been resolved; the causes not yet uncovered. Memories of pain and fear remain locked up inside Jim's head; guarded memories, and while Spock may have some theories, none of them are sufficient to settle his churning stomach. However, if he were to press past Jim's mental blockades, force his way into a memory Jim has no desire to relive or even remember, Spock would be violating his partner's trust. After all, hadn't he promised to protect Jim from pain? _T'hy'la..._

Spock gets to his feet, even more conflicted and ill at ease than when he had returned home early to meditate, with his father's warnings swirling through his head. Just what is this Vulcan woman capable of in her current mental state? Would she violate all her principles, the moral code she had been indoctrinated in since birth? Was she now living by peace and logic, or by vengeance and fear?

 

The weekend proceeds without incident and routines return to normal as Jim and Spock do the shopping Friday afternoon while David is at school. Saturday, Jim suggests they all do something together, like a family, and David asks if they might go see a holo-film. Sunday evening, Spock takes David to the local library where they bypass the electronic terminals in favor of the old paper and hardback books kept on display, spending hours together poring over old classical literature across yellowed pages.

Returning from work Monday evening, Spock finds Jim holed up in their office, gathering all his schematics and research materials for the _Genesis Project_ into piles on his desk, rolling up blueprints and placing them in their protective tubes. He casts Spock a short, distracted greeting, but offers no other reaction as Spock crosses the room to unroll his meditation mat and lights his incense, which fills the room with its subtle fragrance. As he sits down to meditate, however, Jim seems to pause and scent the air.

"Is that...a common incense fragrance for Vulcan meditation?" Jim asks slowly, turning his head to direct these words over his shoulder toward his mate.

Spock tilts his head, his tone quizzical, "Perhaps, though I do not know, for I buy this brand from a generic provider."

Jim nods slowly, as if contemplating something, but when Spock asks him why he is curious, he receives no response aside from the shuffling of papers into folders. When he surfaces from his meditations, Jim is gone, as are all the materials pertaining to the _Genesis Project_.

 

Spock is the first to awake Tuesday morning, his eyes opening to view the early morning darkness of the bedroom, although the sky outside is already exhibiting the light blue of pre-dawn. Jim is still at rest beside him, curled on his side facing Spock with his head half on the Vulcan's own pillow. His mind is quiet across the bond, settled into the lighter hours of REM sleep, caught between deep sleep and early waking. Spock doesn't disturb him, nor does he seek out the bond to make his own reassurances. The temptation is there, but Jim's earlier words to him that weekend echo back to him across his memories:

_'You know, for a Vulcan, you worry an awful lot. At least lately. Don't pretend like I haven't noticed how you've been tip-toeing around me, like I'm a bomb about to explode. I'm not going to pass out again, I've gotten plenty of sleep this week.'_

Jim's words fade from Spock's mind, but they still bring with them a feeling of dread and shame. Was Spock simply overreacting to an unknown situation? He thrusts that theory aside almost as soon as he's formed it, however. He can remember the stark fear and pain, the confusion and refusals from Jim during their argument Thursday night. It had almost seemed like Jim had been fighting something, but what? Fighting himself? Fighting the words Spock had been saying to him at the time? Or was this all some twisted sense of denial on Jim's part?

Not allowing himself to brood, Spock convinces himself that today is the day it will all change for the better anyhow. Jim will be leaving Professor T'Mal's project and will no longer have any involvement with the woman, leaving Spock free of concern while he finds some manner in which to prove her instability and that she is unfit to continue her research. Perhaps another call to his father was in order to see if the older Vulcan had been successful in uncovering any more pertinent information on the matter.

Mentally laying out the facts, Spock begins creating an action plan in his head as he lays there in bed, his mate's soft breath warm against the curve of his neck.

First of all, Spock will be unable to pose any inquiries to the Admiralty directly regarding the project, since, as far as they know, he is unaware of its existence. He may, however, have an ally in Admiral Pike, given that he can convincingly explain the situation regarding his own father's investigations and Jim's behavior. 

Secondly, Spock is planning on placing a call to New Vulcan so he might speak with the mind-healers responsible for T'Mal's recovery after her severed bond. Perhaps they will be able to shed some light on the woman's mental state just prior to her leaving the colony. If Spock is able to find some proof that she is potentially acting on misplaced emotions of malice and pain, perhaps he can secure a meeting with the professor on more neutral ground and pose his questions to her directly. That is, if he too hasn't come under investigation.

 _'I have begun to see the vastness of this web of danger we have involved ourselves in and I have theorized we may not be the only people interested in the discoveries of Solen T'Mihn T'Mal.'_ Sarek's words only confirm Spock's own instincts when he considers the interests of Starfleet. Whatever T'Mal has been working on, if information of her plans for a 'utopia' weapon were to reach the ears of others, would not other nations wish to have access to it?

Jim's alarm goes off, emitting it's disturbing ringing and waking Spock's partner. Jim rolls over, groaning and slapping his hand down on the device, leaving their room in silence once more. He sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning, rolling stiff shoulders. Spock lays his hand against one of those shoulders, ceasing his mate's movements.

Looking down at Spock, Jim smiles and leans forward to bestow a light kiss on his lips, moaning and closing his eyes when Spock tightens his fingers around the sore muscles of Jim's neck. "Mmn...you spoil me," Jim murmurs, lowering his head a little as Spock kneads the tense flesh of Jim's neck. After only a moment, during which Jim allows himself the pleasure of Spock's attention, he pulls away with tangible regret. "Gotta get up, get David ready for school..." He grumbles, tugging on his sleep pants from off the floor and walking toward the bedroom door.

Spock watches him go, a riotous mix of emotions urging him to follow, to stop Jim, to look at him, look _into_ him. There is still a raw, disquieting feeling at the back of Spock's mind that something is wrong, that James is still in pain but is simply hiding it. How he is hiding it however, Spock has no idea; he hadn't taught Jim any mental controls yet, so the man truly should be like the open book he always was before to Spock. Except he isn't, instead he is withdrawn and quiet. It is as if Jim might be on the verge of remembering something he'd rather not, and so is putting off thinking about anything other than menial daily tasks. Spock believed his partner would call it 'working on autopilot'.

Getting out of bed, Spock doesn't even bother donning his robe but simply pads downstairs in his sleep pants and long-sleeved shirt and enters their office, quietly closing the door. He hears Jim's voice from inside David's bedroom, waking the child up for another day of school. Spock unrolls his meditation mat, intending to seek solace in meditation, but after twenty minutes of being unable to achieve the calm needed to enter meditation, Spock opens his eyes and gives up on the endeavor. It seems he will have to suffer the disquiet of his mind a while longer, at least until he can lay this issue with Professor T'Mal to rest.

In the kitchen, Spock finds Jim staring out the window over the sink, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Approaching his mate, Spock slides his hands down Jim's bare arms, feeling his partner shiver and lean back into him, Jim's shoulder blades pressing into his chest, his head coming to rest against Spock's collarbone. "Mn...what should we have for dinner tonight?" Jim asks, the question entirely benign, but still a question that Jim had rarely asked Spock. It was as if Jim had switched off all his instincts toward decision making, leaving everything up to Spock to decide. Spock had decided that they would take David to the holo-film that weekend, had decided to take them all to the park afterward, had even decided if it was cold enough for Jim to want a jacket before they had left for dinner the night before.

Pursing his lips, Spock presses his hands into Jim's back, gently urging his partner to straighten up so he might step away, crossing the kitchen toward the stairs. Jim's voice sounds from behind him, confused, "No input?"

"I shall be content with whatever you decide, James," Spock replies as he mounts the steps, retreating to their bedroom. The muted, dulled emotions filtering through their bond fade as Spock withdraws from it, needing a little peace for himself as he steps into their bathroom to ready himself for his day.

When he returns downstairs, it's to find Jim has already dressed and left to take David to school; the house is quiet and empty, lit by the early morning sunshine passing through the blinds over the windows. Spock foregoes a meal, his stomach turning with agitation as his mind keeps doubling back over its problems and Jim's changed behavior.

During the drive into the city, Spock contemplates the history of Jim's past behavioral changes. He had seen Jim stressed, angry and even enraged before. He had also seen him hurt and frustrated. However, James Kirk reacted to pain and stress differently than a lot of humans Spock had met before. Jim kept his emotions to himself, kept them locked up inside himself in a way familiar to Spock, kept them locked up that is until Jim reached a breaking point and lost his calm and patience. But this reaction to stress was different. Jim was almost needy; he was detached and avoiding the situation.

Spock almost misses the street he needs to turn onto, too deeply mired in his thoughts about Jim to realize he has been driving manually and without thinking about his destination. He parks his vehicle in the designated lot and settles his uniform hat onto his head as he exits the car, making his way into the Central Command building and taking the Officer's lift up to his floor. He greets Yeoman Nelson absently as he enters his offices, sensing her confusion as he asks her for a cup of coffee instead of tea, in the hope that the beverage might help him focus on his tasks for the morning.

Once he enters his office, he closes the door and breathes out a short sigh, glancing toward his desk. Nothing appears to be disturbed in his office, except that the coaster he had used under his mug of tea yesterday was missing, probably due to his Yeoman’s tidying. Spock approaches his computer terminal, switching it on and logging into his account, checking over his files and documents and running a sweep of the background programs running, searching for anything suspicious. When he doesn't find anything, he leans back in his seat, admonishing himself for allowing his mind to lapse into paranoid thoughts. Of course they weren't monitoring him, he had only made a single search into the _Genesis Project_ the week before. If anyone was going to confront him, they would have done so by now.

Yeoman Nelson enters his office with her usual tray, this time carrying a mug of coffee she hands to him, leaving a small glass jar of sugar along with it before folding the tray beneath her arm and bestowing upon Spock an openly concerned look.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" She inquires and Spock nods, bringing the steaming hot coffee to his lips and swallowing down a revolting, bitter sip of the stuff. He had always hated the flavor of coffee…

"I mean no offense but...you do not look well. Have you been resting?" Nelson asks, her brows furrowed with worry.

Spock sets his mug down beside him on the new coaster provided, "I am functioning adequately, Yeoman. If you would compile the reports from last night into one file for me to analyze, I would be grateful," he offered, watching her concern deflate toward disappointment and weary acceptance.

"Of course, sir. I should be finished before your afternoon meeting," she promises, crossing the room and pausing at his door, holding it half open for herself, "Oh, and sir?" She turns, "Rear Admiral Haynez rescheduled your meeting from last week for today, is that alright?"

"Certainly, Yeoman. Thank you." Spock replies, his eyes already focusing on a report he had not gotten to the day before. Later that morning, Spock peruses the reports from the previous night, going over the ship's log for each vessel under his responsibility and control. Around ten-thirty, he rises to meet with Rear Admiral Haynez, crossing the hall to the other man's offices. They discuss Spock's new position and Admiral Haynez asks him if he has any questions before the man shares his accumulated knowledge regarding the ships placed under Spock's purview.

It is fifteen minutes to noon when Spock returns to his own office, pausing in the reception area when he notices Yeoman Nelson is not in attendance, her post unattended. Frowning slightly, Spock lays a hand on the counter surrounding her desk and looks down at her terminal, but it is switched off.

Approaching his office door, Spock lays his hand on the knob and listens. He hears a sniff from the other side, distant and turned away from the door. Spock feels a chill roll through him as he steps into his office, one brown-grey tinted head turning toward him, revealing Admiral Pike sitting in his seat behind the desk. Spock lets the door swing shut, tucking his hands behind himself out of habit and respect as he approaches his own desk, not allowing his mind to make assumptions about what the Admiral's visit might mean.

"Admiral." Spock inclines his head in a slight nod, standing before his desk. Admiral Pike has his elbow resting on the armrest of Spock's chair, his chin propped in that hand, brows raised and eyes guarded. He doesn't correct Spock into calling him Christopher this time.

After a long silence, Admiral Pike straightens in the chair and folds his hands before himself, his head tilting in the other direction this time as he considers his words before speaking, "Commodore...would you mind telling me why you were searching our databases for information regarding a top secret project named _Genesis_?"

Spock swallows but otherwise makes no outward appearance of guilt or discomfort. "I was simply curious about James' involvement in the project and had hoped to perhaps ascertain some knowledge regarding the nature of the Vulcan Professor's research. As you know, there are very few Vulcans involved with Starfleet, especially now as we are rebuilding our society again."

Admiral Pike nods slowly, his eyes studying Spock's face intently, his piercing gaze not lacking any of the steel and intuition of his days as a starship captain. Spock’s composure does not break under the weight of that stare, however, his shoulders remain square and his features stony. "And you thought that perhaps you could lend your own knowledge of astrophysics and ingenuity to the project?"

Spock's brows pinch together a fraction, an almost imperceptible movement, his chin tilting toward his shoulder as he redirects his gaze at the Admiral. "No sir, as I said, I was simply curious about what I might find. I did not expect to find the information to be so heavily safeguarded, nor did I expect to be monitored while making a simple inquiry."

Heaving a long sigh, Admiral Pike pushes forward out of the chair, grasping his cane and turning away, pacing toward the office windows. "Yeah well, ever heard the saying 'curiosity killed the cat', Commodore?"

Narrowing his eyes, Spock replies in monotone, "Indeed. Am I to understand I am in the place of the cat in this matter?"

Admiral Pike doesn't respond, but instead continues in his own vein, "Of course you're being monitored Spock, you're a newly appointed Commodore who just so happens to have a personal relationship with someone involved with a top secret project." He turns, his cane clicking slightly as it slides across the carpeted floor, subject to his weight as he leans into its support. "Have you asked Kirk to break his NDA agreement in order to tell you restricted information about the project?"

Spock is taken aback, his lips parting as he experiences a moment of hurt and outrage. Surely Admiral Pike knew him well enough, as a person if not as a professional, to know that he wouldn't invade Jim's privacy or coerce him into breaking legally binding agreements. "I have done no such thing, Admiral, and frankly, your suggestion is offensive to me."

Closing his eyes, Admiral Pike reaches up to rub a hand down over his brow and temple, his expression morphing into one of both relief and chagrin, "Sorry Spock, you're right. I know you wouldn't, I just had to ask. Protocols..." He grumbles, shuffling his hand into his pocket and limping closer to Spock, leaning his hip up against the edge of the desk. "In fact, you're rather lucky I managed to be the one here confronting you about this. They _were_ going to send Admiral Berman and he wouldn't have been so understanding about the matter."

Turning to face his superior, Spock braces the fingers of one hand against the surface of his desk, his eyes noting the posture change in the Admiral. He was no longer so stiff, so professionally withdrawn. "I do not understand their suspicion, Admiral, I have done nothing wrong. I made inquiries and was stopped when my security clearance would not allow me to proceed."

Nodding, Admiral Pike changes his position to seat himself on the edge of one of Spock's leather seats, his cane resting against his knee. "Has your Father reached out to you in any way about this matter?"

Spock's heart drops into his shoes when the Admiral asks him this, knowing that it is expected he tell the truth and also knowing that his father would not expect him to lie on his behalf; but also feeling that divulging his father's involvement might sway the investigations already being conducted toward a more grim outcome. Instead, he says, "Where is my Yeoman?"

Admiral Pike's eyes narrow a fraction and Spock knows he has answered by omission when his superior nods and looks away, seeming to chew over this information and finding its taste to be sour. "I dismissed her until after lunch."

Grunting softly, Admiral Pike gets to his feet with the aide of his cane, rounding the chair and turning to speak over his shoulder to Spock as he straightens his uniform, "I'll have to ask you to cease and desist, Commodore. _Project Genesis_ is classified and if anything regarding it were to be made public, Starfleet could suffer some grave consequences. I would hate to see that blame placed on your shoulders, Spock."

It isn't a threat; that much Spock can discern, but the warning still doesn't sit well with Spock. "I see," he says, dropping his gaze when the Admiral pauses, turning to regard him from across the room.

"I mean it Spock," the Admiral continues, "if the rest of the Admiralty were to find out you or the Ambassador were still making efforts to contact the Professor or even research her project...we'll have to detain you both. Those are _my_ orders."

Swallowing, Spock nods solemnly, straightening up and sliding his hands behind himself, clasping them together tightly, "Understood, sir." When the Admiral leaves, Spock cannot help but feel like he's been scolded as a child would be. He turns to regard his computer terminal with renewed suspicion. Perhaps they had removed the monitoring software over the weekend. Otherwise, that would mean he had been reported on, which only left one other person who was privy to his concerns regarding Professor T'Mal. Yeoman Nelson.

Pursing his lips, Spock rounds his desk and takes a seat behind it, feeling helpless. What little he had managed to find out about the project, not even enough to fill a single short document, has now garnered him his first reprimand, even if it was informal and off the record. Contacting his father would be much more difficult now.

Spock has very little time to contemplate his situation before he is due to leave for the afternoon meeting of department heads. Picking up his PADD, he sets out for Meeting Room One three floors above his. Admiral Pike is in attendance, but he doesn't so much as glance at Spock as they all disperse themselves around the wide table, taking their seats for an hour and a half of reports regarding fleet operations.

Distantly, as Spock is considering the figures on the projection in the open center of their meeting table, he wonders if Jim has had his chance to speak with Professor T'Mal and to end his involvement in the project.

Each department takes their turn reporting pertinent information and updates regarding their fleet ships on deployment, and soon it becomes Spock's turn. He rises and opens the program on his PADD with his points of interest highlighted. He begins his presentation about the five ships under his responsibility and their scientific discoveries. But as he speaks, making the hand gestures necessary to slide through the projections he's prepared for this meeting, a growing feeling of dread and sickness creeps over Spock. It grows to the point where Spock stumbles over his words, falling silent as he swallows down a swell of nausea bubbling up his throat. He catches a concerned glance from Admiral Pike across the table from him and has to look away as that worry is openly displayed as Spock takes a sudden step back from the table.

"Commodore, are you well?" Admiral Komack, sitting at the head of the round table, makes his inquiry just as Spock's head blooms with pain. He stumbles back, his shoulder blades colliding with the thick window pane behind him, his PADD stylus clattering to the floor at his feet.

Spock is simultaneously aware of several things in a very short amount of time. On one level, he senses the approach of his superiors and peers, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, many voices asking him questions and speaking to him from differing places around the room.

_"Commodore? Are you alright? What's going on?"_

_"Is he going to be sick? Someone get a Yeoman!"_

_"Spock? Spock, it's Christopher, can you look at me?"_

_"Lay him down, put his feet up. Someone get a wet towel."_

His focus wavers in and out, and he is distantly aware that he is being moved, his body taking a more horizontal position as someone lays him back upon the floor. Something wet touches his face, a voice in his ear, a snapping sound that makes him jerk his head in pain as the sharp sound increases the throbbing in his head.

Swimming down through the layers of his mind, Spock seeks out the bond, casts aside the mental defenses he had placed around his own mind to blot out the daily distractions of Jim's thoughts, only to gasp in shock as he finds it silent. Jim is not there!

" _Jim!_ " Spock gasps aloud, his eyes opening, his body shaking. The bond is still intact however and he clutches at that single realization as he struggles to sit up, pushing at the individuals crowding him until a familiar voice, Admiral Pike, barks orders for them to give him room.

"Spock, what's going on, do I need to call for medical?" Pike asks, his voice firm and urgent and sounding from behind Spock. Turning his head, Spock notes the Admiral crouching next to him, his hand braced against a chair to keep himself steady.

Shaking his head slowly, Spock looks away, dropping his head into one open palm and struggling to gain control of himself and the situation. There had been a blinding pain, and then silence from James on the other end of their bond. James had to be in some kind of danger and Spock's mind reaches blindly for that link, searching for Jim and only finding silence.

Just as Spock is about to get to his feet, his hands moving about his person in search of his personal communicator, a Yeoman bursts into the meeting room and makes a straight line for Admiral Komack. The low murmur of voices isn’t soft enough for Spock to be unable to hear what the Yeoman says to the Admiral, so when the man goes pale, Spock knows why. 

“Sir,” the Yeoman murmurs, “there’s been an explosion in the industrial district. Classified mission 311 has been compromised. What are your orders?” 

Admiral Komack turns, not bothering to lower his voice as he asks, "Has the media arrived on the scene yet?"

"Yes sir," The Yeoman confirms.

"Shit..." Admiral Komack runs a hand back through his white hair, his cheeks flushed in frustration, "proceed with defensive measures. Send an investigations team to the site along with an EVAC unit."

"Emergency services were notified upon detonation, sir. It would seem the Professor triggered an alarm just before detonation," the Yeoman explains.

A hand falls on Spock's shoulder, jolting him out of his horrified stare across the room at the Admiral and his attending Yeoman. Turning his head on a stiff neck, Spock notes the hard stare from Admiral Pike. A moment of understanding passes between them both and Spock learns all he needs to know, that what he has heard is classified.

"You alright now, Spock?" Admiral Pike questions, "Perhaps I should walk you to medical myself."

Taking the hint, Spock inclines his head, swallowing and making a slight show of staggering to his feet, catching a hand on the back of a chair for support. Everyone is looking at him, fussing and asking questions, some too personal for Spock to even consider answering as Pike brushes past all of them, taking Spock by the elbow and leading him from the meeting room. They walk side by side in the hallway, Spock slowing his pace to keep with the Admiral, who is limping swiftly.

"How much did you hear?" Pike questions as they round the corner, the man's finger shooting out to stab the call button for the turbolift.

"All of it," Spock says simply, to which Pike nods.

"Alright, so here's what's going to happen," he says as they enter the lift together, the doors sliding shut. Pike turns to face Spock, his expression tight and serious, "You're going to pretend like you didn't hear a damn thing to avoid a court martial. If you even let slip that Starfleet could have been involved with the destruction of a privately funded project, those Admirals in there would have no problem with letting you get crushed under the wheels of bureaucracy. I, on the other hand, _do_ give a shit."

Spock nods dazedly, his mind still tugging futilely on the other end of the bond, hoping to find or feel something from Jim. The lift comes to a stop on Spock's floor and Pike speaks again once they are entombed in Spock's quiet office. "Was Jim at the compound today?"

Spock's throat tightens, a new surge of worry threatening to compromise him as he finds his communicator resting on his desk. He picks it up, thumbing through his contacts until he finds Jim's number and opens a channel. He immediately gets an automated message declaring Jim's communicator to be switched off.

Lowering his communicator from his ear, Spock grips it a little too tightly in his hand, hearing it creak under the strain as he thrusts it onto his desk and paces away, turning his back on Pike. "Yes," he says finally, surprised when his voice emerges calm and smooth when inside he is panicking.

" _Shit!_ " Pike hisses, expressing the exasperation and worry that Spock cannot bring himself to verbalize as he limps the length of the room and back again. "Well, I say _fuck_ protocol, you had better get down there. If he's been injured in this, he's going to need you. EVAC is on it's way but if you don't get there first, they'll be keeping Jim and anyone else involved in this incident under wraps and under surveillance. Nothing about the _Genesis Project_ can be leaked to the media, otherwise we're all going to look all kinds of bad. Trust me, the Admiralty is going to try it's damnedest to keep anyone from talking about what happened. They probably won't even let you near him until he's been debriefed."

Turning around, Spock stalks for the door of his office, picking up his communicator as he passes the desk and sweeping past Admiral Pike.

"Hey!" Pike limps a half step toward Spock, rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a key, tossing it toward Spock, "Take my transport, it's in security lock up."

Catching the key tossed to him, Spock nods and leaves his office, passing Yeoman Nelson on his way out into the hall. "Commodore! What's going on?"

Spock doesn't bother to stop and explain but continues on, taking the lift down to the lobby of Central Command. As the doors open, he is shocked to see not the chaos and flurry of movement and people he normally does, but clusters of individuals peering up at the news screens mounted on the walls in the main lobby. Spock takes the steps two a time, but slows as he looks up at one of the screens, seeing a shaky, silent video of an explosion. It illuminates the skyline view of the industrial area of San Francisco, a bright flash and then a mushroom cloud of flame and smoke. Spock pales as he views the spectacle with everyone else, horror twisting through his chest and settling in the pit of his stomach.

Forcing himself to look away from the news report, Spock walks swiftly toward the security gates, breaking into a dead run as he passes through them, swiping his I.D. badge for clearance and sprinting for the secured personnel lot. He is barely breathing hard as he reaches Pike's sleek four-door unit, pushing the key into it's locked gate and shoving the door open. The car powers on as he comes into view of its headlights, chirping as it unlocks and Spock slides into the driver's seat while the security gate begins to creak and lift behind him.

"Call me when you find him, Spock. If I don't hear from you in an hour, I'm going to track you both down." Admiral Pike's voice sounds through the front speakers of the vehicle as Spock programs the address to the compound into its GPS systems. "And believe me, better it's me you're reporting to than Admiral Komack. If the EVAC gets to him before you, you can bet he'll be under security lock-down for upwards of a week. Get him out of there, Spock."

"Agreed. Spock out." Spock replies, ending the transmission by depressing the call button on the steering wheel. The Admiral releases his control over the vehicle as Spock pilots it out of the security gate and down the row of closed gates toward the exit. He stops only briefly to flash his badge at the guard, piloting the vehicle out onto campus streets and heading for the main thoroughfare.

Halfway to the industrial area, traffic becomes heavier as the hour goes from late morning to the lunch hour and Spock is forced to take the first exit off the motorway he can get to, taking back streets toward his destination. Continuing to pluck at the silent string of their bond, Spock feels a flicker of awareness from James, but when he calls out to his mate, he receives no response. 

Gritting his teeth, Spock parks the Admiral's car eight blocks from the compound, the rest of traffic jammed due to the explosion as emergency vehicles fight their way to the scene.

Spock takes to the sidewalks, running past people at a dead sprint, following what flickers of Jim he can sense through their bond and following in the direction it pulls him. However, just as the smoking column of the compound comes into view, Spock loses his sense of Jim. He lurches to a sudden stop, closing his eyes and trying to sense his beloved in the mass of minds and emotions around him. He senses a tumultuous tumble of shock, awe, fear, pain, and anger. 

The crowds grow thicker the closer Spock gets to the edge of the compound's property, where metal fences have been erected by the local authorities to keep the throngs of gawkers at bay. Spock pushes his way to the front lines, tugging his badge out of his pocket and shoving it in the face of the first officer who tries to force him back behind the fence.

"Sir! Sir, you can't cross the fence, sir!" The officer argues.

"My _mate_ , he's in there!" Spock shouts, "My name is Commodore Spock from Central Command, I have clearance to be here!" He argues, fighting against the man's restraining hand and wrenching his arm free.

Officers chase after him as he cuts across the lawn and through the parking lot, having to weave around vehicles pushed up on their sides by the force of the blast the closer to the compound he gets, all the while searching for some feeling indicating Jim's presence. Just as he reaches the twisted gates, now blown open by the explosion, Spock stops dead in his tracks.

Jim isn't here, Jim isn't in the compound. The stark instinct of it is enough to convince Spock that it is the truth and the officers catch up to him as he looks left and right, trying to logically figure out where his mate could have gone from here. He turns about to look across the destruction of the parking lot, looking for Jim's sedan only to notice it isn't present... James isn't here.

A thick, heavy body collides with Spock as an officer tackles him to the ground and Spock snarls, rolling under the officer's weight and kicking free, pinching the next man in the neck as he tries to hold Spock down so they might zip-tie his hands together. Another officer goes down as Spock pivots and jams his elbow into the man's face, scrambling to his feet and running across the parking lot. He vaults the barricading fence and melts back into the crowd of people, shoving bodies aside to free himself as his feet pound the pavement, retreating back toward the Admiral's vehicle.

He's panting by the time he reaches it, pausing with his hands on the bumper to try and sense his mate again, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, holding it. His blood pounds in his ears and he shouts out toward his partner, using their bond, _'Jim!'_ He gets no response, however he does get a sense of direction. To the East, Jim is escaping to the East! Spock rounds the car, about to get back into the driver's seat when a chirping from his communicator has him pausing to answer it.

"Jim?" He asks, a stifling hope choking his throat and strangling the single word as he longs to hear Jim's voice. He sags in relief when his wish is granted and Jim's voice, somewhat hoarse, replies on the other end of the transmission.

"Spock, listen, I don't have a lot of time but I need you to do something for me, alright?" Jim sounds panicked and fear licks at Spock's concern, turning the world grey around him.

"What is it? Where are you?" Spock questions, looking back toward the compound and noticing one of the officers in the distance looking about, for him no doubt. Yanking the car door open, he slides inside and starts the engine.

"That's not important right now, but I need you to do something for me, okay?" Jim repeats, sounding a little out of breath. Spock hears the roar of a second engine, a car coming to life on Jim's end of the transmission.

"Anything." Spock promises, cradling the communicator in one hand as he pilots the vehicle around and back out the way he had come, taking a side street to avoid more emergency vehicles arriving on the scene.

"I need you to go get David and place him under protective custody."

Spock frowns, confusion mixing with his fear and nausea, sick with relief that James seems to be well, even if he isn't making much sense at the moment. "Why?" Spock asks simply, once again trying to discern his partner's emotions through their bond, only to be met with guarded determination.

"Just _do it_ , alright?" Jim's voice is sharp and impatient, cracking through Spock's hesitation.

"I will. But you must tell me where you are, where are you going?" Spock pleads, taking a side road to turn around and head for the direction of David's new school.

"I can't," Jim sighs, and that single sound is weighed down with enough weariness and fear that Spock doesn't need a bond with Jim to feel it. " _Fucking shit!_ " Jim hisses, his voice tinged with pain.

"Are you injured?" Spock inquires urgently, alarmed.

"Not too bad, but that's the least of my worries right now, I've got to go Spock. I'm-" Jim pauses, a time in which Spock can hear traffic noises and distant voices, "I'm sorry Spock. I've just got to finish this..."

Spock grips the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles a yellowish white, "Finish what?" He prompts, terrified he already knows the answer.

"The work, Spock." Jim replies, not truly answering Spock's question at all before ending the transmission. Spock, out of frustration, worry and anger, tries calling him back but the transmission doesn't connect. Either Jim has shut off his communicator, or he has destroyed it somehow.

The bond is still frustratingly silent as Spock makes his way to David's school, executing a shitty parking job outside on the street in his haste to get to David and start getting some real answers. He doesn't even question the fact that David could be in danger, for if something had caused Jim to be in a situation where leverage against him was necessary, David was the perfect leverage. Not only did the whole world seem to know about him now, but he was still a constant news story on the holo feeds.

Spock checks in at the school’s front desk, giving the secretary his name and David's name, telling her he is removing David from class early for the day due to an emergency. The woman blinks at him, most-likely disturbed by his impatience as she calls up the information and tells Spock where David's current class is located.

Stalking the corridors, Spock finds David in the science labs where his class is conducting an experiment, dissecting a cow's eye into parts. When he appears in the doorway, David looks up from his table and shoots to his feet, ripping off his plastic goggles. "Spock!" He crows, both shocked and excited.

Making a beckoning motion with his hand, Spock spares only a glance for David's teacher as she approaches him, "Can I help you, Commodore?" She asks, having met him when he and Jim had come to visit the grounds.

"I'm taking David home," Spock says, his voice clipped and sterilized of all emotion except haste as he bends to untie the knot at the back of David's plastic apron, tugging it off over the child's head and thrusting it toward the teacher as he takes David's hand and leads him toward the door again.

"Oh, is something wrong?" She asks, following them out into the hall, folding the apron over her arm. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"No," Spock replies, "however, I do not know when David may be returning. If you would compile a folder with the work he misses in the interim, that would be appreciated," Spock requests.

"What's going on, Spock?" David asks, eyes round with shock and confusion.

"I will explain in the car," Spock promises as he turns his back on David's teacher, urging the child to walk fast down the hall.

"What about my backpack?" David asks before he stumbles, Spock catching his arm to steady him and slowing his pace a fraction so David won't have to scramble to keep up.

"Leave it, your teacher will take care of it for you." Spock dismisses the topic as they turn the corner and walk past the front desk. The secretary bids them farewell and David half turns to wave before he is pulled outside into the front grounds. The sun is bright as it shifts past some fluffy clouds and Spock squints, looking around them out of habit and training as he surveys the area for a threat, wrapping his hand around David's and leading him down the steps toward the sidewalk.

"Has something happened to Dad?" David asks, seeming to put two and two together with his father absent from this early pick-up.

"Your father is alright." _For now, at least._ He does not speak the thoughts in his mind, ending up distracted by a familiar sound behind them. Spock turns sharply in time to see three shimmering figures begin to materialize on the sidewalk five paces from them.

David turns to look as well and his eyes widen in shock, and then fear as all three figures solidify and raise their weapons; unmarked disruptor weapons used by thieves and mercenaries. One human, one Romulan, and one Andorian.

Just as the child sucks in a breath to scream, Spock bends and scoops David up in one fluid motion, turning to run as their three attackers open fire, speaking in rough tones of Romulan to each other. Spock curls David in against his chest, one hand cradling his head and the other curled beneath his bottom as he runs up the hill toward the Admiral's car.

Disruptor fire bounces off the ground behind Spock's feet, sizzling on the pavement. The firing angle is odd with Spock running uphill but he cries out as a lucky shot grazes his arm and another along the curve of his thigh before he can get to his vehicle and thrust David behind it.

Their attackers are running up the hill after them, one splitting off to the right, another to the left while the third remains in the center on the offensive. Spock unlocks the rear door of the car and urges David inside, opening the passenger side and yanking the front storage compartment open, blessing Admiral Pike when he finds a Starfleet issued phaser. He powers it on, cycles it to stun, and shoots to his feet in time to round and fire off a shot at one of their attackers, catching him in the stomach, only pausing long enough to watch him go down and stay down before he shoots over the roof of the car at the second mercenary circling toward his right. The Andorian ducks behind another car, effectively evading Spock's second shot.

Ducking down himself, Spock slides into the passenger seat and quickly scrambles over the center console and into the driver's side. The vehicle's engine roars and David gasps in fear as disruptor fire glances off the side of the vehicle. Silently apologizing to Admiral Pike for the damages, Spock pilots the vehicle into air propulsion. It leaps up into a steady hover five feet above the ground and as one of their attackers stands from behind the vehicle he had been using as cover, the front bumper of the Admiral's car smacks into his head, knocking him prone.

They clear the roof of David's school and Spock notes the battery power left, giving them five more minutes of propulsion before they will be forced to take to ground again. David is struggling up into the front seat, his legs appearing first, and then the rest of him as he slithers over the center console and grips the dashboard for balance, turning toward Spock, "S-Spock, who were they!?" He asks, blue eyes bright with fear and excitement, dangerously close to hysterics. Unfortunately, Spock has his hands full piloting the car and cannot turn to comfort him.

"I am uncertain, but it would seem they were instructed to either kidnap or kill either one of us," Spock remarks, only realizing a half moment too late that his words would only serve to agitate David more. 

"What!?" David crows, disbelief and terror in his voice as he whips around in his seat to try and get a look at their attackers on the ground. "They're gone! Spock, what if they're coming after us!?"

"I am evading pursuit." Spock says bluntly, reaching out one hand to pull at David's shoulder, forcing the child to turn back around in his seat to sit properly, "Put your seat-belt on, David." Spock commands.

The child obeys, though his hands are shaking and Spock listens to the futile taps and clicks of David’s failed efforts several times before he has to reach out and press the belt home, tightening the strap across David's chest with a single firm yank.

The emotional tumult radiating through his link with David isn't enough to distract Spock, but it is enough to cause his heart to ache and twist in his side, the feeling growing worse when he hears soft sniffles from the seat beside him. As the adrenaline of the moment begins to fade, Spock suppresses a wince as the burn wounds across his arm and leg draw his attention again. When he lifts one hand from the steering wheel to press it down over the graze of his arm, it catches David’s notice and the child’s voice, watery with tears says, “You’re hurt!” 

Spock withdraws his hand and inspects it briefly, noting the absence of blood. It would seem the heat of the disruptor fire had cauterized the wounds they had made. Blocking out the pain, he says to David, “I am still functional, do not worry.” 

Spock grounds the car as it's propulsion limits are reached and he notes the limited model of this vehicle, realizing that Christopher Pike probably has no need of air propulsion with his disability, preferring to remain grounded.

Turning down an alley off a side street, Spock parks the car behind a dumpster and presses the emergency call button that will alert the Admiral to the location of his vehicle, sending a direct message to the man's communicator. Getting out of the car, Spock circles around to the passenger side and opens the door, having to lean in to unbuckle David as the child fumbles with it, lifting him out of the front seat and walking swiftly down the alley and out the other side onto another side street. The streets here are rather busy and Spock consults the map of the city his eidetic memory has stored in his mind, searching for less traveled streets he knows where they might acquire another vehicle.

"S-Spock...where's Dad?" David asks, his arms tight around Spock's shoulders, their cheeks pressed together, David's skin wet and sticking to Spock's own as the child's tears dry.

"He is seeing to another matter, I will find him and we will all be together once more, I promise," Spock says, speaking in a low voice for only David to hear as they weave through crowds of pedestrians on the sidewalks.

"However, at the moment, I must take you somewhere safe," Spock explains, taking a side street and zig-zagging his way across crosswalks and down other streets until they are able to avoid the majority of the crowds out and about during the day. Luckily, that factor is in their favor, not many people would consider stealing a car in the middle of a crowd in broad daylight hours. Not only that, but Spock is dressed in a respected uniform, no one would look twice as he selects a make and model he is familiar with, approaching it and setting David down on the pavement beside him as he stands before the driver's side door on the sidewalk and presses his fingers around the lip of the fingerprinting panel.

David watches with wide eyes as Spock prizes the small panel open and Spock has to warn him, "Don't watch, pretend to play with my communicator, David." Spock instructs, handing the child his device before returning to the task at hand. Small groups of pedestrians pass by, but no one gives a second glance at Spock. He shields his work with his body and keeps up a steady stream of conversation with David, asking the child about his day at school and keeping him talking to make it seem like just an adult and child waiting at their car. Turning his back, Spock leans up against the side of the car and slips his fingers beneath the coded panel, stealthily yanking out a particular wire to short circuit the car's locking mechanisms. The car chirps once and Spock presses his thumb into the sensor pad, reactivating it to recognize his entry instead of the previous owners bio-metric signature.

David stares down at Spock's communicator doggedly, determinedly ignoring Spock's actions, even if Spock can tell it's burning him not to watch with fascination as Spock smacks the heel of his hand back down over the somewhat bent entry panel on the driver's side door, jamming it back into place and opening the door. He motions David in first, who climbs over the center console again to sink into the passenger seat as Spock sits behind the wheel. A garbled noise greets them, the system's A.I. trying to respond but finding one of its recognition circuits damaged. Spock takes a moment to input a line of code into the computer console to disrupt the car's GPS and tracking systems, effectively turning it into what the media had been calling 'ghost cars'. Cars hacked to remain off line and inoperable by dealerships or the car's owner.

"Whoa..." David murmurs, looking around the dirty interior of the vehicle. There are take-out boxes and drink receptacles scattered throughout the backseat and a ridiculous scented cut out of a cardboard tree hangs from the rear view mirror, which Spock yanks off and tosses aside so it won't distract him as he drives. He pulls the car out into traffic unseen and without suspicion.

"Hey! Look at this!" David says excitedly, opening the glove box and showing Spock what looks like little plastic boxes with old time cassette tapes in them. It would seem they had stolen the vehicle of either an eccentric historian, or a rather elderly person. "What are these?" David asks and Spock is grateful for the child's distraction from the harrying situation at hand.

"Those are old devices in which Terrans would record audio on a special kind of tape that would play back when inserted into a device specially made for them. I believe they are called cassettes or tapes and what is used to play their audio is called a cassette player." Spock replies, the explanation coming to him easily as he takes them back toward the Starfleet campus. After all, that is the safest place Spock can think to take David and placing him under protective custody would be a simple matter of arranging for Admiral Pike to enroll David into temporary care under Starfleet's protection services.

Unfortunately, David seems to realize a few minutes later that they are not going in the direction of home and he sits up, cassette tapes scattering to the floor as he twists to face Spock, reaching out to grab the Vulcan's shoulder as he asks, "Where are we going?"

Spock glances at David, noting the dilation of his pupils and feeling a spike of renewed fear from David across their familial link as David's grasp tightens on his shoulder, a desperate action committed by a desperate child. "I am taking you somewhere safe, as I said."

"Home? You're not taking me home, are we going to meet Dad?" David asks, searching Spock's side profile keenly.

Even if lying by omission isn't technically lying in Spock's eyes, he cannot allow himself to withhold the truth from the boy about his intentions, so he says, "Your Father asked me to place you under protective custody, the safest place to do so would be with Starfleet, so you will be entering their protection while I meet up with your Father." _Wherever that may be...Jim, where are you?_

David recoils as if slapped, tugging on his seat-belt where it cut across his chest, fidgeting in his discomfort and emotional upheaval, "What!?" He crows, "No way, I'm going with you!"

Spock frowns, realizing that in order to make his point, he may have to pull off the road in order to capture David's understanding. So rather than park the car, Spock pulls into an automated car wash lot and directs the vehicle onto the moving tracks, putting the car into neutral and letting it be swept slowly along and into the building. At least they will be moving and hidden from anyone endeavoring to search for them as Spock turns in his seat to speak to David.

"I do not know what kinds of danger we might face if I were to bring you along. It would place both your Father and I in a more confident state knowing you were taken care of and protected while we straighten out whatever situation your Father has gotten himself into," Spock explains, watching David's eyes grow round in the dim light, the rush of water outside their vehicle the only noise interrupting them.

"What do you mean? Is Dad in trouble?" David asks, his bottom lip trembling slightly, his blue eyes beginning to swim with more tears.

Suppressing a sigh and silently wishing he were better at this, as good as Jim perhaps, Spock reaches out and unbuckles David's seat-belt, drawing the child up with a firm grip beneath his arms and embracing him as David kneels on his seat. "I do not know, David... possibly. But taking you would only place you in danger. I would rather know you were safe somewhere away from all this."

"But...what if you guys don't come back?" David asks, his voice shaking, choked by fear and sorrow.

"We'll be back David, I promise," Spock murmurs. He cannot possibly promise such a thing, but perhaps the words are enough to calm David.

Rearing back, David shakes his head vehemently, "No, I'm going with you! Dad promised me he'd never leave me and you did too, I'm not getting left!" David argues, shining tears sliding down his round cheeks. Spock turns his hand and uses the edge of his sleeve to wipe the child's face, pursing his lips as he regards the situation logically.

Logically, Spock cannot know what has happened to Jim. Logically, Starfleet could be more deeply involved than he knew and placing David in their care could be just as dangerous as keeping him at his side. At least with him, he can be sure that David will not become a pawn in some greater scheme not yet uncovered.

With a sinking weariness, Spock nods his solemn agreement, the line of his jaw turning to stone as he grits his teeth and forces his way through his own fears. It would be so easy to lose himself like David, to succumb to the worries and the fear, to let himself cry for his mate he cannot sense, who could be damaged or dying without Spock knowing.

But in this moment, David needs his strength, needs Spock to be the pillar and reassuring presence. So Spock straightens in his seat and orders softly, "Sit back down David, put your seat-belt back on."

David hesitates, studying Spock with watery blue eyes, "Are we going home?"

Spock nods again, gripping the steering wheel, piloting them out the other end of the car wash glistening like a steel grey photon torpedo in the sunlight, "We're going to get your Father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	13. Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally find out what happened at the Compound as Jim confronts a growing crisis alone, sending Spock to find and protect David while he escapes San Francisco. Rather than abandon David to strangers, Spock takes the child with him on the wild, disconcerting chase after one mate and Father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hello, woo-hoo!! Another update, right on schedule, lucky me! I'm hoping to keep on track with these updates, but it _is_ spring break and some of my friends are home from college and want to hang out. Hopefully it won't cut into writing time too much. 
> 
> As always, I want to extend a thank you to [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate) and all that she does for me and the fic. I also want to thank [MissBAMF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBAMF/pseuds/MissBAMF) for her lovely support and encouragement during my writing process. Go ahead and check out her stories as well, they are _amazing_! I couldn't have asked for more lovely people checking up on me this week. 
> 
> I do want to express some warnings for this chapter, particularly some **graphic depictions of violence** , in case anyone is uncomfortable with some mild blood and gore descriptions or depictions of injury. Other than that, this is just a really tense chapter and there is a lot going on, so bare with me if I've made a few errors, for they are my own. I also admit that I am not an electrician, an engineer, nor a scientist to any errors pertaining to those fields of work are due to my lack of knowledge on the topic. However, I do not feel it detracts from the story! 
> 
> Lastly, I want to recommend a song for the first half of this chapter, and then one for the second. The first rec is a song by **The Brothers Bright** entitled [_'Blood On My Name'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xz5Mx3a8kRw). The second song is for Spock's part in this chapter and it's by **Joel Adams** and is entitled [_'Please Don't Go'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2oxFIsENgM). Go ahead and give these a listen if you would like! 
> 
> Without further interruption, I hope you enjoy the latest installment to _Human Nature_! Please let me know what you think and feel free to share your reactions with me over comments, emails, or tumbles. =]

Turning off the engine of his sedan, Jim leans back in the driver's seat and lets his head fall back against the headrest. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long sigh and bends forward, his elbow braced against the armrest in the door of the car, pressing his fingertips into his eyelids. Pursing his lips, he glances up toward the rear-view mirror, a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach as he re-checks the contents of his backseat. Everything, all his research and blueprints, all the schematics and documents pertaining to the _Genesis Project_ are rolled into tubes and stuffed into cardboard boxes. The plastic model he had just finished putting together with the aide of his 3D printer that week pokes out of the top of one of the boxes.

Sighing again, Jim unbuckles his seat belt and rests his hand on the door handle of his car while glancing around the half empty parking lot. It's still early, he usually gets here a half hour before everyone else on Tuesdays since he had to take David to school first. He supposed getting here early in order to get a better parking spot wasn't going to be a worry any longer; today was going to be his last day.

He had known something was up when he walked into the house with David in tow last Thursday. Spock had never beaten them back home before, hadn't ever had a reason to leave work early, aside from picking David up after his school fight last week. In fact, Spock leaving work early was completely out of character and so Jim had questioned him; he just hadn't expected it to lead to a whole argument about Profressor T'Mal and the project. Truth be told, Jim had assumed the topic was done, that he had convinced Spock that in less than two weeks, he would be off the project anyway, and several thousand credits richer for it. But it seemed Spock had been keeping things from him, keeping secrets; yet another thing he hadn't ever thought to expect from his mate.

Chewing his bottom lip, Jim pushes his car door open before he can change his mind and opens the back door of the sedan, gathering together the print tubes and stacking them on top of the two boxes of his files. He had been keeping hard copies of things ever since the Professor had told him to keep his research locked up, not only for the good of the project, but for the protection of her ideas. He had to admit that it made things a lot harder when you were trying to dump off all your work-related shit with a two week notice.

Jim snorts, shaking his head and smiling grimly. Only he wasn't giving Professor T'Mal two weeks, now was he? Spock had been rather adamant about him leaving now, had been convinced that the Vulcan Professor wasn't fit to be heading this project. For whatever reason, which Jim couldn't see, Spock thought T'Mal was dangerous. However, if Jim was going to have to choose between money...and his partner's peace of mind, he would choose his partner every time.

It was simply unfortunate that, after all this work, Jim wasn't going to have any kind of credit in this project of the Professor's once it took off. Not only would he be forfeiting the money promised today, he would be handing over all his research and materials to someone else in the Engineering division to handle. His hard work would become someone else’s crowning jewel. But hey, Jim had to admit that this wouldn't be the first time, nor would it likely be the last.

Struggling to balance two heavy boxes and four long print tubes, Jim makes his way up to the compound gates and manages to press the call button with his elbow. The face of the overnight watchman appears over the small screen above the card reader and Jim gives the man a familiar nod. "Hey Larry, mind letting me in? I've got my hands full." Jim shifts, giving the man view of his boxes, his face peering around the corner of one. "As you can see..." Larry smiles, but there is no intercom system, so he simply nods before the screen goes dark and a loud buzzing sound indicates the gate's locking systems have been temporarily disarmed. Jim pushes his shoulder against it, wedging the iron gate open enough to let himself in before it falls shut again.

Readjusting his hold on the boxes, Jim nearly drops a tube of prints and ends up saving it only after some fancy footwork and a muttered curse, continuing his shuffle toward Building A and the respite of his office. He had to admit, it was nice having an office to himself, a place he could work that wasn't in the house with David distracting him every few minutes for help or with questions about his homework. Granted, those questions came a lot less frequently now that Spock was home, but Jim still wound up finding himself distracted just listening to the two of them in the other room, hearing Spock's smooth voice discussing David's lessons.

Having to set his boxes down on the pavement, Jim straightens to fish his I.D. card out of his pocket, swiping it through the card reader outside Building A and tucking his foot between the door and the jam as he bends to scoot the boxes toward the entrance. He gets as far as the threshold before print tubes go rolling, clattering down the hallway. "Shit..." he grumbles, letting the door fall shut behind himself as he moves to pick up his mess. A hand reaches down in his line of sight and when Jim looks up, it's to see his co-worker Rothel Suder, a Betazoid, pick up one of the rolling print tubes.

"Oh, hey Rothel, sorry 'bout that," Jim murmurs, managing a slight smile as he straightens up and takes the tube from Rothel.

"What's all this?" Rothel asks, picking up the last tube and handing it to Jim with a quizzical glance at the boxes at their feet.

Jim didn't really wish to explain, in fact he had hoped he would be able to get to his office, drop off all his things, clean out any personal effects to his car and have a short, parting conversation with the Professor to explain his situation before departing. Unfortunately it seems Jim wasn’t the only one thinking to get an early start this morning.

"Oh, just everything I've been working on for the past three months..." Jim mutters, tapping the curved edge of a tube against the heel of his other hand, shifting on his feet.

Rothel's eyes widen and Jim frowns, "Oh no, is the Professor already asking for all our materials on the construction of the two fusion wells of the device? I was just typing them up this morning, but I'm not used to working without dictation and I haven't-"

Holding up a hand to forestall his friend from any more freakouts, Jim shakes his head, "No Rothel, she didn't ask for the report yet." Jim plasters a tight smile on his lips, slapping Rothel's arm companionably, "but you had better get that finished by Thursday, she has been known to ask for reports before their scheduled due dates."

Rothel's shock turns to relief, and then confusion, his frown returning, "So...what has you so upset this morning then? I could practically feel you from across the compound when you walked in."

Rolling his eyes, Jim sighs and tucks the tube in his hands under his arm, stooping to lift the boxes again. Betazoids, thinking it was their God given right to taste your emotions and use them to interrogate you. It was probably the only reason Rothel and Jim were even friends, the Betazoid had always known Jim's limits when working with everyone else on the team and what kinds of moods he had been in. In a way, Rothel was like the barometer for their Engineering team, and in a way...Jim was going to miss him.

Starting down the hall and sidestepping Rothel’s question, Jim says over his shoulder, "Hey, we should get drinks sometime, you and I?" Not waiting for an answer, he turns into his office, ignoring the confused, blinking face of his fellow co-worker standing out in the hall. It was better to leave him guessing anyhow, less chance of Rothel trying to talk him out of what Jim half thought was about to be the biggest mistake of his life.

Setting his things on his desk, Jim runs a hand back through his hair and turns in a full circle, surveying the office he had been using for over three months. There weren't many personal touches to the place; he didn't spend a whole lot of time behind his desk, usually he was out in the warehouse, especially lately as he and his co-workers were putting together the outer hull and inner compartments for the Professor's device.

Rounding his desk, Jim braces his hands along the surface and hangs his head, taking a deep breath and blowing it out through pursed lips. He really shouldn't be feeling all this apprehension, he knew the reason he had agreed to Spock's terms. It had been that argument, that long moment he couldn't even remember...the blackout. He had awoken on the couch, his last memory being of Spock telling him about T'Mal's background. From there...things got awfully hazy.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim straightens and wipes a hand down over his face, his fingernails grazing along the slight stubble on his cheeks. He could still see the worried pinch of Spock's brows, sense his worry and hesitance, the way he'd acted around Jim the whole rest of that week, as if they were walking on egg shells together. Jim had hated it, which had only fueled his determination to keep his word. If this project was going to drive a wedge between him and his partner, it wasn't worth it.

Now he just had to do the worst damn part; talk to the Professor.

Jim couldn't possibly begin to explain the trepidation and fear he felt every time he thought of approaching T'Mal to speak with her. She was harmless, completely non-confrontational and professional. He had no logical reason to experience his fight or flight response when approaching her. Still, it didn't change the way he broke into a cold sweat, his palms damp and his skin prickling. He was sure she had noticed a few times, but she had been professional, not even mentioning the time last week he had turned in another direction to avoid passing her in the warehouse.

A knock on his closed office door makes Jim shrug his thoughts off. "Come in," he calls, sinking down to sit on the edge of his chair, his hands braced on the armrests as Garrett, one of the other Engineers under Jim's purview enters with irritated concern plain on his face.

"Hey, we've got a problem going on in the decompression room. I couldn't find the Professor; do you have the codes to use the manual override?" Garrett asks, and Jim notices now that the man is pale, a thin sheen of sweat coating his upper lip and temples.

_Shit..._

Pushing himself onto his feet again, Jim grabs up his I.D. chip and snaps it onto his belt as he follows Garrett out into the hall, falling into step beside the taller man and questioning, "Is it the Professor's compounds? She mentioned there was an incident over the weekend that called her into service the decompression chamber. I suppose one of her solutions became unstable..."

Garrett frowns, "Is that even possible? I mean, I haven't seen her maths, but it seems unlikely..."

"You think someone tampered with them?" Jim asks as they mount the stairs and take the glass hallway cutting between Building A and the warehouse. Jim swipes his chip through the reader at the closed metal doors at the other end and the two men step into a decontamination chamber, a white fog misting over them, the timed cycle counting down from ten until they are cleared to enter.

As the glass doors hiss open, Jim hears the alarms sounding in the wide expanse of the warehouse, the glass enclosed chamber across the room lit up with red, flashing klaxons. Increasing his pace, Jim hurries across the warehouse, his co-workers moving out of his way as he approaches the control panel outside the glass decompression chamber.

 

"Martin, what's going on?" Jim addresses the male attendant bent over the controls, his face flushed and tense with worry.

"I-I don't know, sir, I just got here not ten minutes ago and when I came to report to my post, the alarm started to sound." Stepping back, Lieutenant Martin relinquishes the controls to Jim, who immediately begins to run a system's check.

"Things are starting to heat up in there, sir," Ensign Tucker remarks, peering through the glass enclosure toward the containment units lined up along the far wall.

"Step back from there, Ensign. If we have to reroute energy from Building B, there could be a spark," Jim warns as he depresses several command keys across the board, bringing up the pressure percentage and cursing under his breath as the numbers decrease. If these compounds weren't contained under at least a fifty percent increase in atmosphere, things were going to blow pretty fast.

Taking out his I.D. chip, Jim inserts it into the command prompt slot and enters his clearance code, bypassing the security system protecting the manual override. "Sir, if we shut down the chamber for even a moment, the Professor's infusions could boil. They're unsteady enough as it is, but cutting all power could-"

"I understand, Lieutenant," Jim snaps, cutting Martin off as he reroutes a direct line of power from Building B across the compound to the chamber's circuit boards. He pulls out a few wires, cutting the chamber's ties to the warehouse supply as secondary power comes online. The lights in the chamber flicker and Jim can feel a bead of sweat rolling down the center of his back as the electrical panel on the side of the chamber spits sparks. The pressure in the chamber begins to drop dramatically and as the voices around him rise in a cacophony of stressed advice, Jim keys in commands to reverse the air-flow through the vent in the back of the chamber, hacking into the fan in the ventilation system to increase it's speed, effectively creating a vacuum inside the decompression chamber to hold until a repair unit can see to the problem more thoroughly.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief as the pressure gauge levels off at fifty-one percent. For the first time since Jim began this job, he feels that perhaps it isn't worth it after all. If he hadn't been fast enough or clever enough...they would have all gone up in a big ball of fire.

"My commendations, Lieutenant Kirk." A solemn, steady voice sounds from behind the huddled group, interrupting the back-slaps and the relieved smiles. Jim turns from the control panel, his hand sliding off the prompt keys as he faces the Professor, who looks as cool as a damn cucumber.

"Thanks..." Jim says lamely, breathing out a short sigh and straightening up, sliding a sweaty palm back through his hair. He shrugs, "It'll hold for now, but the guys and I should probably take a look at the chamber's circuitry; I think we could have lost a power cell."

Shifting her clipboard, the Professor nods, tucking her hands behind her back, "Very well, I will expect a full report on the matter by the end of the day." Turning, she starts for her lab across the warehouse, having to duck her head slightly to pass under the protruding payload compartment of the _Genesis_ device.

Taking Lieutenant Martin by the elbow, Jim relays a series of orders to the man to supervise the systems check Jim had started and to organize a team of individuals to begin investigating the problem with the decompression chamber. With the rest of his team moving to follow direction, Jim smooths the front of his uniform and follows after T'Mal, brushing his hand across the belly of the warhead cap of the device as he passes under it, cutting across the rest of the warehouse at a light jog and reaching the Professor just as she swipes her chip through the reader by the door to the labs.

"Hey, Professor? I uh, was needing to talk to you about something. Would now be a good time?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest, beginning to feel oddly defensive as she turns her slate brown eyes to regard him.

"Can it not wait?" She asks, her voice cool.

Jim blinks, brushing off what some might call a rude question, telling himself that he ought to be used to the blunt manner of Vulcans, "No, actually it's quite important."

Professor T'Mal doesn't so much as sigh, but Jim notices how her shoulders rotate back, as if she is uncomfortable. Her eyes drop to the floor, "Very well." Her hand on the doorknob, the Professor opens the door and breezes inside, holding it open for Jim before shutting it and engaging the privacy lock. "What is this regarding, Lieutenant?”

Glancing around, Jim notes the beakers suspended over a low heat across the room, notes the distinct brown color of the liquid inside it. In another beaker, moss grows, a steady drip of water introduced every few seconds through an digital pipet.

"Well, I thought I should do this in person so I came in today to tell you I'll be leaving the project early," Jim begins, bracing his hands along the black surface of the lab table, watching as the murky liquid in the first beaker begins to solidify into mud.

T'Mal's heels click on the tile as she rounds the table to stand on the other side opposite Jim, mimicking his stance with her hands braced on the counter, leveling him with one of her long stares. Finally, she asks, "Why?"

Straightening up, Jim folds his arms back over his chest and avoids the question all together, saying, "I brought all my research materials and schematics for the device, it's all in my office. I recommend promoting Lieutenant Martin, he's been the most reliable up to now and responds the best under pressure. I'll stick around to help them secure whatever caused the decompression chamber's flip out this morning, but after today I won't be returning."

The Professor steps around the end of the counter, effectively blocking Jim's exit as he turns to leave the lab, having given his formal resignation. "You have not told me why, Kirk..." T'Mal prompts, lifting her chin and studying Jim more closely, keenly enough to make Jim drop his eyes, confused by the spike of fear her glance instills in him. "Is it anything to do with your partner?"

Jim blinks, hoping the color isn't draining from his face the way he feels it is, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Still, he shakes his head, "No, I have simply...decided I'm done here. This has nothing to do with Commodore Spock."

He may be seeing things, but the Professor's eyes seem to narrow and Jim straightens as she steps closer to him. Close enough, in fact, that Jim takes a step back, trying not to feel oddly intimidated by a Vulcan woman his own height.

"I need you on this project, Kirk...you have almost single-handedly developed the propulsion systems for the device and I need you to finish implementing them. It is why I hired you in the first place," she says, her tone carrying with it a command, one that Jim instinctively rebels against. No amount of Starfleet training could keep James Kirk from chafing under any form of authority. Technically, he was no longer the Professor's employee, and seeing as how he had outranked her at one point in time, the intimidation he was feeling began to fade. She must have seen it in his face, for her lips pursed and her brown eyes turned to hard steel.

"There is nothing I can do that cannot be carried out by my engineering team following my research and diagrams. Now if you would excuse me? I have a control panel to inspect..." he says, motioning past T'Mal toward the closed door to the lab. But she doesn't stand down, her feet are firmly planted and Jim takes a step forward to brush past her, only to be blocked by her hand as it lifts suddenly toward his face. He flinches back from her fingers, knocking her hand aside in quick defense, his heart hammering in his chest as adrenaline surges through him. Sudden terror clenches his stomach and almost makes him sick as he glimpses a moment of frustration in those brown eyes, only to be concealed and brushed aside as T'Mal turns away, stalking across the lab to her desk and computer terminal.

"Very well, you are dismissed," she says, her words clipped short; annoyed.

Jim swallows, lowering his hand, wondering if he had just avoided something much worse than an angry boss. His head aches as he turns away, disengaging the lock, shoving the lab door open and emerging out into the warehouse, his heart still racing and his breath short. He hates this odd, panicky feeling in his chest that makes him feel edgy as he walks back to the decompression chamber to check on his team making repairs.

Slowly, as Jim becomes engrossed in his work, he begins to let go of the caution and worry Spock's warnings had triggered in him. His conversation with T'Mal fades into the background as he lets himself become consumed by the work, rolling up his sleeves and getting dirty with the rest of his co-workers, even getting a light shock from one of the open circuits he is trying to repair. When he unlocks the power room at the back of the warehouse, however, his suspicions rise again as he inspects the chamber's power cells, finding one of the four to be loosened and simply sitting in it's casing.

"Impossible..." he murmurs, frowning as he dons his shock resistant gloves and screws the cell back into place. The only people with access to the power room are the Professor, and Rothel, and him.

Resetting the circuitry, Jim reroutes power back to Building B and brings the warehouse main back online, the lights flickering as the changeover occurs. When Jim pokes his head out of the room, he gets a thumbs up from Lieutenant Martin standing before the chamber's control panel.

"That was odd," Jim remarks as he rejoins the Lieutenant, frowning down at the controls on display, the pressure gauge slowly climbing back up to a comfortable seventy-two percent. 

"When I checked the power cells, one of them was unscrewed...that doesn't just... _happen_ , Martin. Does it?" Squinting, Jim scratches the back of his head, receiving a quizzical look from Martin.

"No, they're put in pretty tight, there's no way one could come unscrewed," he remarks.

"Not even in the event of a power surge? One couldn't short circuit and shift in it's housing?" Jim questions, but Martin is already shaking his head.

"No, sir...in fact, I remember when those power cells were upgraded, it's standard procedure to tighten them with a wrench, you'd have to use one to even get it to budge. Besides, if one power cell had been affected by a power surge, the other three would have been affected as well."

A sick feeling begins to form in the pit of Jim's stomach, as the only other way for this incident to have occurred...would be foul play. Frowning, Jim turns away, scanning the individuals working and moving about the large warehouse. The sounds of loud construction fill the space as people in anti-grav boots buzz like bees around the large _Genesis_ device, piecing her together. 

If it wasn't Jim...who else could have tampered with the power cells? It had to either be the Professor, or Rothel. The former didn't make sense, because why would T'Mal wish to blow up everything she had been working so hard on for so long? Rothel, on the other hand, made no more sense than the Professor. Rothel had worked hard to get accepted for this project, had been excited and proud to start it alongside Jim, and had worked just as many long hours and late nights as anybody else. Why would he seek to destroy it all?

"Kirk? You uh...you okay?" Martin's voice breaks through Jim's grim thoughts, his expression one of confusion when Jim turns to face him.

"Hm? Oh, nothing Lieutenant. I guess just...run another diagnostic and we'll call it a day over here. We've wasted enough time as it is on this thing, don't let it put us behind schedule," Jim responds, picking up his PADD and tucking it under his arm, making for the Professor's office. He raps his knuckles on the glass window in the door and when the door unlocks, he slips into the lab.

"Here is the report you wanted," he comments, handing over his PADD to T'Mal, who is seated behind her desk and turns from her terminal to take the device, linking it to her own to transfer the report for her own perusal.

"There's something else however," Jim starts, watching one slender brow arch and kind of hating how it reminds him of Spock, if only because T'Mal puts him on edge and he wants nothing about her to remind him of his mate. "I was going over the conduits and the power cells in the power room and found one of the cells loosened.”

T'Mal looks up from the report she was skimming over on her PADD, her face blank, "'Loosened'?" She questions.

Jim inclines his head in a short nod, "Not fused or blown, but loosened. It was just resting in the casing without a connection."

The Professor sets her PADD aside and sits back in her seat, her eyes shifting from Jim to somewhere just past his shoulder, gazing out the lab window at the rest of the warehouse. Something seems to catch her eye, because she stands up and moves around her desk, her gaze intent on something, intent enough to make Jim turn and search for what has caught her eye. 

What he sees is Lieutenant Rothel crossing the warehouse, his PADD tucked under his arm. Jim watches as Rothel glances back over his shoulder then says something to Ensign Charles that has the young man turning to jog across the warehouse toward the decompression chamber.

"It would seem we have a traitor among us..." T'Mal remarks, just as Lieutenant Rothel reaches the lab door and knocks. She glances at Jim before depressing her thumb on the release button for the lock, letting him in.

As Rothel comes into the room, he smiles as he sees Jim, but when Jim doesn't return the expression, he drops all pretense, his expression sliding into one of detached boredom. "Well, seems there is no need for explanations, seeing as how you have both already figured it out. However, you're both too late."

Jim takes a step forward, testing Rothel and winning the reaction he expects as Rothel reaches across himself to pull his PADD out of his other hand, revealing the small hand-phaser he had been concealing behind it's shape and raising it in one fluid motion to pin Jim where he stood. "I wouldn't," Rothel warns, his voice hard. He motions with the tip of the phaser to T'Mal, "I want a download of all your information to my PADD." He holds out the device for T'Mal to take but when she doesn't move, he slides his thumb over the release of the phaser, changing it from stun to kill. "Do it, or I'll shoot."

"That would be foolish, because then you won't receive anything..." T'Mal challenges, her words making Jim break out into a sweat.

"What are you talking about?" Rothel asks, shifting to block the window in the door with the wide set of his shoulders, bending his arm holding the phaser so it remains out of view from the other lab window next to him. "The download, now," Rothel demands, impatience shining through in the bite of his words and the grit of his teeth.

"Impossible," T'Mal responds, lifting her chin, her demeanor cool even as Jim grows tense and is searching Rothel for any kind of weakness or upper hand to be gained. "I do not keep a digital or hard copy backup of any of my work."

Rothel becomes very still, studying T'Mal, probably sensing if she's lying by the muted strain of her emotions, but he must find her reaction lacking because he shifts his attention, turning the phaser on Jim, "Then speak into the recorder and tell me everything about your research. I want formulas, mathematics, dimensions, theories..." he instructs, using his thumb to press an application on his PADD and holding it out toward T'Mal once more. She still does not accept it.

"That would take me longer than you have..." her eyes shift away from Rothel to regard the window once more but Jim doesn't take his eyes off their attacker, not until there is a loud explosion from somewhere out in the warehouse, the detonation enough to shake the floor and make Rothel flinch. Jim seizes the opportunity, launching himself at Rothel as the Betazoid turns his head to look out the window in reaction. Jim slams his taller frame into the lab door and crushes his knuckles into the fleshy underside of Rothel's wrist hard enough to make him drop his weapon. The phaser clatters to the floor and Jim kicks it back as he lands a punch across Rothel's jaw, a shock of pain spiking up Jim's hand from the impact as his hard bone meets even harder bone.

"Jesus!" He yelps, shaking his hand as he takes a step back. Rothel is half slumped against the door and brushing the back of his hand down the line of his bruised jaw, casting Jim a look of pure hatred.

Bending down, Jim scoops up the phaser off the floor and trains it on Rothel, motioning him to get out. As the lab door opens, Jim follows and pauses on the threshold in shock when he notes the chaos having erupted in the warehouse.

People are running, some with phasers, others with nothing but their fists to protect them as rough looking individuals, most likely mercenaries, attempt to round people up in the center of the warehouse and stun those who resist. A few mercenaries are down, Jim notes with some satisfaction, but his attention is drawn to the line of his people collected beside the _Genesis_ device, their hands folded atop their heads, chests heaving from the fight, eyes wild and fearful. One of the mercenaries is shouting at them, asking them questions in languages ranging from Romulan to Middle Eastern, through to Klingon and finally to Federation Standard when no one responds.

"Where is she?" The leader, Jim assumes, shouts, "Where is the Professor?!"

No one speaks and Jim lifts his phaser, about to make a shot when Rothel opens his fat mouth and hollers, "Over here!"

"Rothel!" Ensign Charles yells from across the warehouse, his voice high with alarm, "She's done something! There's nothing I can do, the power cells are set to overload!”

There is a moment of silence where everyone lets that information settle before the leader of the intruders turns to regard Rothel and raises his weapon. Rothel doesn't even have time to flinch; his eyes widen in shock as disruptor fire takes him squarely in the chest, knocking him onto his back across the floor and blowing a hole so wide the wound smokes.

"Traitor!" The mercenary screams. Jim only now notices the slope of the brow, the ridges of the skull; Klingon. Rothel had been in league with mercenaries? Mercenaries sent by Klingons?

Jim raises his phaser and gets off two shots before someone is grasping his arm, yanking him back and off balance, just as disruptor fire retaliates. He cries out as he receives a glancing blow from an energy weapon, taking the hit across his thigh and curling forward in pain, stumbling as T'Mal shoves him back into the lab and slams the door shut against more disruptor fire.

"We have one minute and fifteen seconds, Mr. Kirk," T'Mal says, her voice agitated and her movements hurried as she locks the lab door and drags Kirk away from the window, sitting him down in the rolling chair behind her desk. Jim winces as his wound protests the position, gritting his teeth and pressing his hand down over the bleeding slice through his leg.

"One minute...before what?" He questions, panic and fear beginning to creep in past his instincts to fight. He is not letting his thoughts stray just yet, not letting them wander to... _Spock_... _David_. He squeezes his eyes shut, counting down from five and opening them again with a tiny measure of renewed calm.

"We've got to get out of here, the back entrance to the warehouse, it's only fifty feet away-" Jim proposes, tipping his head up to look at T'Mal, who has her eyes closed and looks almost like she's...meditating? "Hey, are you listening to me?" He asks, annoyed. Jim gets to his feet, running on adrenaline as he grasps her arm and shakes her once, "Open your eyes, look around! We're taking fire, Professor!" Driving his point home, the glass window beside the lab door shatters under disruptor fire and a head appears, peering inside for targets. Before the Romulan can bring his weapon to bear, Jim raises his phaser and shoots the attacker between the eyes. When he looks back at T'Mal, she is breathing hard, almost hyperventilating and Jim grasps her shoulder.

"Hey, calm down! Let’s get out here, I'll lead alright?" He grabs her sleeve, beginning to tug her away from the desk and pushing on her shoulder, trying to get her to crouch but before he can take two steps toward the door, T'Mal grips his wrist so hard he winces and drops the phaser as he's spun around to face her. Before he can even think to defend himself, T'Mal's fingers press in hard against his face. Jim gasps, then cries out in pain as T'Mal forces her way into his head, driving into his consciousness with the single-mindedness of a spearhead.

Before he can think of any way to retaliate, or even call out to Spock across their bond Jim hears T'Mal's voice, shaky with fear he can taste on the back of his tongue, "Tuluk tu vokau. You will remember." The force and weight of T'Mal's mind hits Jim like a thousand tons and he drops to his knees in shock, struck dumb as whirling images and memories pass before his eyes in a flash, too fast to fully comprehend or process as he is suddenly inundated with too much information, too much emotion, just _too much!_ T'Mal's voice pierces the flow of information, commanding him, _'Finish the work!'_

Then hell breaks open below them and swallows them whole. An explosion rips through the warehouse, so loud that Jim's hearing shorts out and is replaced by a loud, high pitched ringing sound instead as his vision turns white. The force of the explosion hurls him forward and a heavy weight collides with him in the same instant, forcing him to the ground so violently that his head bounces on the tile.

 

The first thing Jim becomes aware of is that he can't move, something heavy is pinning him to the floor. The second thing he is aware of is that he can't hear a damn thing except his own rapid heartbeat and gasping breaths. When he opens his eyes they're full of grit and everything is blurry; he's half blind. When he shifts, pain in his left shoulder tells him it is dislocated. A weight against his back shifts, and he realizes that it's... Professor T'Mal. She is limp against his back, draped over him in an oddly protective fashion. When Jim pushes his good arm under himself, his mouth opens in a cry of silent pain, face contorting in agony when his movements cause him to slide up a length of pole jammed through them both and into the floor.

Trying to breathe through the pain, Jim gets one shaky leg beneath himself, desperately grasping the edge of T'Mal's overturned desk for support as he shifts his body up the length of twisted metal which has speared through T'Mal's back and into his side. With a grunt and a scream of pain and fury, Jim throws T'Mal off his back; her body falling to the rubble-strewn floor of the lab allows him a little more freedom of movement as he manages to lift himself off the pole driven into the floor. He immediately sinks to the ground, exhausted and shaking from the shock. 

His hearing comes back in pops and crackles as he moves his jaw and shifts his head. He can hear his own eyes blink as he takes a dumbstruck look around himself. The lab is in shambles, cement blocks blown clear out of the supporting wall are scattered throughout the room. There is glass strewn about the entire lab and steaming, sizzling liquids on the tile floor. The door has been blown clean off its hinges and lies clear across the lab, its window shattered.

Out in the warehouse, Jim sees multiple fires blazing, smoke billowing up toward the hole in the high ceiling; it is already beginning to pour into the lab. Coughing and gritting his teeth against the searing pain of his wounds, Jim gets his feet under him with the aid of a pock-marked lab table. Gingerly, Jim feeds off the last dregs of his adrenaline and fear to fuel him toward the open doorway, leaning up against the frame for a moment to catch his breath and pressing his hand down over the ragged wound in his side. Glancing down, he takes a quick moment to check and see if the pole had punctured anything significant, like a lung, but it seems to just be the fleshy side of his torso where his waist curves in a few inches below his ribcage. Lucky…

Or maybe not. Jim can hear movement across the warehouse, other mini explosions of materials catching on fire, possibly the scattering of rubble under someone's feet. Perhaps he wasn't the only survivor, and Jim thinks the longer he stays around to find out, the less likely it would be that he will escape this. So following his gut instinct, Jim turns toward the emergency exit, having to step over the body of... Lieutenant Rothel, charred and broken.

Gritting his teeth, Jim shoves the door to the emergency exit open, and to his relief, the alarm doesn't sound, the power to the building apparently cut due to the explosion. He leaves behind a smoldering wreckage, stumbling out into the afternoon sunshine, now choked with black smoke billowing out from the roof of the warehouse. Coughing, Jim doubles over and catches himself on a low brick wall, his good arm wrapped around his midsection still while the other hangs painfully at his side; useless for now.

Turning for the parking lot, Jim glances around the corner of the warehouse, checking for any sign of the mercenaries but finding none, only now realizing that he had forgotten to search for the phaser in the labs. He doubts he would have found it anyway.

Staggering toward the gate, Jim shifts his good hand around himself, searching his pockets with a bloody hand for his communicator. When he finds it, he flips it open to make sure it still works and breathes a short sigh of relief when the screen blinks on. It's cracked, but it still works. A voice in the back of his head tells him he should destroy it. But not yet…

Glancing back over his shoulder for pursuers, Jim forces his legs to go a little faster, the pain from the phaser burn across his thigh making him cringe with every step. The gates are blown clear open from the blast and glass from the compound windows scattered everywhere, crunching under Jim's dusty boots. His head swims and something slides into his eye and when Jim reaches up to touch his forehead his grimy fingertips come away with fresh, crimson blood staining them.

" _Fucking hell..._ " he hisses, disoriented and trying to get his head back together enough to think of what he has to do. The cars out in the lot are all scattered with ash and pebbles from the blast and the first two rows are all overturned or skewed in their parking spaces from the force of the blow. Luckily, Jim had parked far enough away that the sedan is in moderately good condition. The windshield is cracked, a large chunk of cement protruding from the bottom right hand corner, but it appears driveable and when Jim gingerly sinks into the driver's seat, it cycles on, the A.I. screen non-functioning but still speaking as it greets him in the customary fashion.

Dragging his communicator out, Jim sets it on the dashboard and takes a moment to pull in a long, deep breath. T'Mal's parting words still swirl through his head and memories of the altercation with Rothel return to him as he considers his options. Whatever T'Mal had done...she had demanded Jim to finish the work. He didn't know what that meant, but as he thought about it, the instinct to run was beginning to make his heart race. If there were mercenaries now, more would come to discover the wreckage and pick what they could out of the place.

In the distance, Jim can hear sirens and the approach of emergency vehicles. Looking down at his useless arm, Jim wraps his fingers around it just above the elbow and begins to shift it around, searching for the socket and hissing in pain, eyes stinging as he works through the agony of setting his own shoulder back into place. He lifts his arm with the other, rotating the shoulder back until the ball finally snaps back into the socket. Breathing a sigh of relief, he gently moves his arm about, testing the range of motion and finding it severely limited from the strain. But he can still grip the steering wheel.

Jim leaves the compound parking lot just as the first ambulance unit crests the hill up the street and he steps on the gas. People from the neighboring warehouses and factories begin to file out to see what had shattered the glass in their windows and set all their car alarms blaring. He doesn't exactly know of the destination that is in his mind, but he gets a feeling for the direction as he turns toward the overpasses, heading for the shady part of town and the underbelly of San Francisco. He knows he cannot keep the sedan, not with it in this condition or with the possibility of pursuit.

Wrapping his arm back around his midsection, Jim groans as his wound throbs in time with his heartbeat drumming in his chest and the blood pulsing in his head. "Shit, focus Jim...fucking _focus_!" He hisses between his teeth, and just as his vision begins to blur, an odd feeling of calm comes over him. It's almost like he gets his second wind, or another surge of adrenaline as he blinks and feels suddenly awake. He grips the steering wheel tightly, scanning the cars parked alongside the road outside dive bars and shady apartments. Twenty minutes pass during which Jim locates his target vehicle; a shitty little two door coupe with a year's worth of grime on it and good enough wheels to mean she still runs.

He doubles back down the street and pulls the sedan into an alley between a dive bar and a stripper lounge with tacky neon signs. As it turns out, getting out of the car is a lot harder than getting into it had been and Jim mutters a few choice swear words as he falls the half step to the ground, limping toward a dumpster and casting a glare over a bum slumped against the adjacent brick wall who is giving him a curious look. "Fuck off..." Jim mutters, glowering hard enough through the pain to make the man scramble drunkenly to his feet and stagger off.

Opening the backdoor of his car, Jim searches his supplies. In the end, he finds a warm bottle of water, a safety pin, an energy bar, and two of David's books. He also finds his son's old soccer uniform in the kit on the back seat and he opens the duffel, dragging out the jersey and eyeing it before shredding it, his arms burning with the effort as he tears the jersey open into one long strip and begins to wrap it around his middle, compressing his wound to staunch the bleeding. He finds another energy bar tucked in the duffle bag and he tears into the wrapper with his teeth. He has no appetite, but he knows that if he's going to keep his strength up he's going to need the protein, so he bites into the food and chews mechanically, tossing the wrapper into the dumpster as he trudges out onto the empty sidewalk. This isn't exactly this part of town's hoppin' hour, so Jim doesn't observe any strangers as he leisurely walks toward the car on his target list.

Gripping the safety pin between his fingertips, he considers the old lock on the junker's door before sinking into a crouch, nearly screaming in pain as his thigh throbs. Breathing hard through his nose, he focuses on the lock and fiddles the safety pin into the tumblers, turning his head to listen. He must be frowning because blood begins to seep warm and wet down his temple again and Jim has to wipe it aside twice before he manages to get the door open, sliding into the driver's seat and having a look around the interior. 

It is surprisingly neat for being so dirty on the outside, and Jim opens the glove box to find an old style butterfly blade. Probably belonged to some skin-head. He flips it open and sinks to the ground beside the car, turning over to lay his back on the floorboards before the seat and prying the panel open to get to the wires beneath the steering column. He pulls out his communicator and dials up Spock, wondering why he hadn't heard anything across their bond and wondering if Spock blocked him during the hours he spent at work. It would make sense.

"Jim?" Spock's voice is a relief to hear and he almost cracks under the comfort of that single word, feeling a flicker of Spock's fear, relief, and worry shoot down their bond. He catches flickers and starts of the emotions, as if the trauma Jim had just experienced had somehow short-circuited their connection. It's frustrating.

"Spock, listen, I don't have a lot of time but I need you to do something for me, alright?" Jim grunts, dragging the edge of the butterfly knife along the rubber coating over the first wire. He glances up, hoping no one is coming around to discover him, but the street is quiet. His mind wanders as he works, considering what he's about to ask Spock to do for him. _David_...

"What is it? Where are you?" Spock asks, and for the first time in a long time, Jim hears a hint of that fear and worry tinting the Vulcan's voice, just before it's drowned out by the roar of an engine starting.

"That's not important right now, but I need you to do something for me, okay?" Jim presses, trying to keep Spock focused on him and his words instead of his own questions. It takes him one more pass of the blade to strip the wire and cut through the black and red set, touching them lightly together until they spark and jump start the engine. Snorting, he shakes his head, whispering to himself sardonically as he gets into the driver's seat again, "Still got it hot-shot...way to go, you criminal."

"Anything," Spock promises, conviction strong in his voice and twisting in Jim's heart. In this moment, he would bleed again just to have Spock by his side in this. But this is his mess and his situation, _his_ problem to solve. As long as both Spock and David are safe, Jim feels a little better about the prospects of getting to...well, getting wherever it is he's itching to go.

 _'Out of town, away from here...out of California.'_ That strange voice, his own but yet not, echos in the back of his mind and urges Jim to put the blade away.

"I need you to go get David and place him under protective custody." It kills Jim to say it, knowing that abandoning his little boy isn't going to go over so well if he comes out of this on the other side, but David's safety is one of the highest things on his list. If a mercenary was looking for some leverage on him, David would be the first place they would look...his son's existence isn't exactly a secret any longer, after all.

There is a long pause in which Jim figures Spock is trying to reason out Jim's request for possible clues before he questions, "Why?"

The hesitation annoys Jim, makes him snap, "Just _do it_ , alright?" Spock should just do as he asks, without question, especially when it comes to keeping David safe.

"I will. But you must tell me where you are. Where are you going?" Spock pleads, and there is a measure of desperation across the bond and in Spock's tone of voice that wrenches Jim's heart in a bad direction.

Chewing his bottom lip, Jim scowls, hating this imbalance in himself. A part of him wants to run to Spock, to tell him where he is and ask him for help, for protection, to run away from here. But the other half of him knows that this call could be being monitored this very moment, so he grits out, "I can't." He sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted, feeling Spock's hurt across their bond. It distracts him, makes him question this instinct telling him to run, telling him that...this is all on him now, and if he were to drag Spock into it, it'd only get his lover killed. So Jim reaches down and pushes his fingers against his wrapped wound, causing agony to erupt in his side, the pain serving to focus him again, " _Fucking shit!_ "

"Are you injured?" Spock questions urgently, alarm clear in his voice.

"Not too bad, but that's the least of my worries right now, I've got to go Spock. I'm-" Jim pauses, thinking about all he's leaving behind, all he's running from and what he could be running towards. A memory surfaces, the words _'you will remember'_ falling from T'Mal's lips; from his lips. Shaking his head, Jim squints out the windshield and wipes his blood smeared fingers down the line of his pants, using the edge of his sleeve to dab at the blood sticking to his brow. "I'm sorry Spock. I've just got to finish this..." He sighs, regret weighing him down. If he had only listened to Spock the first time, had been cautious, perhaps none of this would have happened.

"Finish what?" Spock inquires, genuine fear dripping down their bond and making Jim's heart begin to race all over again.

There isn't any way he can explain, not over a transmission, not like this. Besides, Jim doesn't even know where to begin... "The work, Spock," he responds, and just as he pulls the communicator from his ear, there is a fading confusion across their bond and when Jim rolls down the window and chucks the communicator out into the street, the bond between himself and Spock goes silent.

As he drives toward the interstate, a part of him wants to go back home, to pick up a few things he might need, like food or more water. Instead, all he has to his name is his battered wallet, his keys, and the last energy bar and bottle of water. He rifles through the glove box of the car again, hoping he might find a credit chip or something, but all he finds are a few punch cards to fast food places and a map of San Francisco.

It seems things weren't going to go as he'd hoped. As he drives on the interstate, Jim finds a shirt in the back seat and uses it to dab at the shallow cut above his right eye, getting the bleeding to stop as he works to cross town. It's weird not having a communicator, having no way of contacting someone, having no goals but to get... _out_ of this city. As he lets his mind wander over the shock of the last few hours, he feels frustrated tears start to well, stinging his eyes. But before they can fall, his vision begins to narrow, swimming before him, startling him out of his half daze and into another adrenaline surge as he grips the wheel, panting. Either he has a concussion or something more serious is going on, because all the feeling in his limbs begins to fade and Jim feels numb, floating…

It takes him all of three minutes to figure out that he's moving on...autopilot? But the words that leave his mouth at the toll booth on the Golden Gate bridge and the movements of his hands, the decision to destroy the credit chip he had used at the toll booth...none of those actions had been decided by him. He watches, as if removed from himself as he goes through the motions, his eyes glancing up toward the rear-view mirror as San Francisco's towering spires begins to fade into the distance behind him, the green and grassy hills across the water welcoming him on the beginning of a long...arduous journey.

/OoO\

 

Without the sensor in his car to trigger the garage door to open, Spock ends up having to park their stolen vehicle across and down the street a little ways. He is hoping that whoever owned this car hasn’t noticed it missing just yet, because if they file a report, it will only take fifteen to twenty minutes for authorities to locate them via traffic cameras. "You have five minutes once we get into the house, David. Take only what you can put in your overnight bag and don't forget your toiletries. Let's go," Spock warns just before they get out of the car.

They cross the street, which isn't very busy considering most people are still at work at this hour. Still, Spock takes David by the hand, leading him up to their front door and glancing subtly left and right for any sign of their earlier pursuers. David, on the other hand, is not so covert. Spock can see the child turning his head, looking behind them and gripping Spock's hand tightly until they reach the stairs leading up to the front door. "Peace, David...we have time."

Unlocking their front door, Spock holds it open for David, glances out behind them, then shuts and locks the door once more. David lingers in the hallway, torn.

"You have five minutes David, you had better pack," Spock urges, already moving past David into the kitchen. He unplugs all their charging electronic docks, picking up David's laptop and putting it into its carry on bag. After checking that David is in his room, Spock moves upstairs at a swift pace and enters his and Jim's bedroom. His heart aches; he still cannot sense Jim, and his mate's scent is prevalent in this room, bringing that fact to the forefront of his mind. 

Pushing his hurt aside, Spock paces over to the closet and finds his duffel bag, beginning to tug clothes down off the shelves and hangers and pushing them into it. He deliberates, looking at Jim's side of the closet and eventually deciding to pull a few of his shirts, pants, and other essentials off the hangers and into his duffle as well.

Internally aware of the time, Spock ascertains that they have three and a half more minutes, so he pulls his communicator out of his back pocket and flips it open, rounding the corner into the bedroom and detouring into the bathroom, hunting up soaps and the first aid kit. He is just tugging his uniform and shirt off over his head when the transmission connects to Yeoman Nelson.

"Tonk-peh." ( _'Hello.'_ ) Spock speaks first, setting the tone of the conversation and feeling the change when his Yeoman responds:

"Travek-lan?" ( _'Commodore?'_ ) Her tone is confused, worried. "Ni wa muhl?' ( _'Are you well?'_ )

"Nash-veh. Nash-veh ki'ya'akash." ( _'I am. I have a request.'_ ) Spock assures her, opening the first aid kit on the edge of the bathtub.

"Veling." ( _'Of course.'_ )

Switching back into Standard, Spock shifts the communicator to his other ear as he manipulates the dermal regenerator from the first aid kit over the burn wound across his bicep. "I need you to retrieve a feline from my home."

"O-Okay?" Obviously caught off guard, Yeoman Nelson continues, "luckily I'm not allergic. But sir, are you taking leave?"

"I...am," Spock lies, pursing his lips, really not wishing to make explanations when he only has another two minutes remaining. Shoving the regenerator into the kit, he slams the lid shut and pushes his uniform pants down to examine the wound across his thigh. It isn't too deep so he bandages it hastily as he continues, "Dahkuh, kehkuh, ohkuh, stehkuh, rehkuh." ( _'Two, four, eight, seven, three.'_ )

"Ra-?" ( _'What-?'_ ) Confused, Yeoman Nelson begins to speak, but Spock cuts her off in Standard.

"The code for the house, and Yeoman? Thank you." Shucking his uniform trousers, Spock tucks the kit under his arm and returns to the closet to shove it and the hand phaser from Pike’s car into his bag before dressing in a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater for comfort's sake. Pushing his feet into shoes, he finishes the call with his Yeoman, sidestepping her fumbling questions in Vulcan, knowing she must be grasping the reason behind his switch between Vulcan and Standard. Spock didn't know if anyone was listening in on his conversations, so it was best to speak a language not many could.

Zipping up his bag, Spock shoulders it and suppresses the urge to itch at the new skin forming over the wound on his arm, ignoring the raw sensation of the flesh and nerves there. Taking to the stairs, Spock descends them two at a time and when he reaches the bottom of the steps, he throws his communicator to the floor in a short burst of violence, watching the device shatter into pieces across the floor, scattering over the tiles and bumping into chair legs. After crunching what is left of the device’s mechanics under food, he crosses the kitchen and looks down the hall, just as a wide-eyed David peeks out of his bedroom clutching the strap of his bag where it rests across his chest.

"What was that?" David questions, fear making his eyes dart around the home, searching for another attack.

"My communicator. Come, we're leaving." Spock holds his hand out toward David and as the child takes it, he draws him into his side and drapes his arm behind David's shoulders, guiding him back toward the door to the backyard.

"But what about Snowy?" David asks, looking back over his shoulder and calling to the cat, worry creasing his brow.

"I have made arrangements for her," Spock assures him, opening the back door and switching the lock up before closing it behind them, just as Snowy appears around the edge of the kitchen island, watching after them.

"How are we going to call Dad without your communicator?" David continues, his words breathy as his worry begins to escalate.

"I can...sense your father," Spock replies, except right now, he senses nothing. Guiding David toward the backyard gate, they exit the property that way and emerge onto the sidewalk alongside the house, Spock checking around the corner before determining their way is clear. Back in the car, Spock pitches their bags into the cluttered back seat and pulls back out onto the street, all the while mentally searching for some direction leading him to Jim.

Without any other hints toward Jim's plans, Spock begins driving back toward the industrial district, hoping that perhaps Jim had doubled back after his initial departure from the compound. 

They don't get very far, however, before Spock feels himself drawn to the East. David is tense and tight-lipped in the front seat beside Spock, his eyes downcast and his fingers twisted together in his lap, nervous energy spurring him into aimless motion as his knee jiggles up and down.

Finally, David breaks the silence as they pull out onto the interstate, "What do you mean you can 'sense' Dad?"

"You are aware of Vulcan telepathic abilities, David?" Spock begins, taking a deep breath. He and Jim hadn't gotten very far in this conversation with David, but perhaps now was as good a time as any to be broaching the subject of betrothal.

"Yeah...you can look into people's minds, right?"

Spock's eyes narrow, not exactly liking that comparison but finding it's logic sound, "Put plainly, yes."

"So you're looking into Dad's head right now?" David asks, folding his legs up onto the seat and straightening up, leaning his head back against the headrest.

"I am not, however I can communicate with him via our bond. Your father and I have... a connection. It allows me to contact him without being in his presence or needing a communications device," Spock explains, much to David's awe and wonder.

"Cool! So...you can talk to Dad right now? Can you tell him to come home?"

Sighing softly, Spock shakes his head minutely, "Unfortunately, at the moment, I cannot reach out to your father. There is something...blocking our connection, I can only occasionally gain a sense of what direction he is in and follow it. Currently, he seems to have crossed the bridge out of the city."

"Out of San Francisco?!" David crows incredulously, eyes wide and fearful again, "But why? Why are there bad guys after us? Why is Dad running away from us and not coming to take us with him?"

"Perhaps he simply does not wish to involve us, but rather seeks to protect us," Spock hypothesizes, knowing full well that it is exactly what Jim is thinking. It may be wrong, but it is Jim's nature, after all.

When the sense Spock gains of Jim's direction is suddenly severed again, Spock ends up running into traffic as people begin to leave work for home. Spock is certain, however, that Jim has taken the route toward the _Golden Gate Bridge_.

Knowing this, he sits back, letting the car creep along on it's own momentum as they observe a view of glowing tail lights and pedestrians moving with purpose. Deciding to bring David up to speed, Spock begins to explain Jim's plight in the simplest manner he can. He leaves out speculation and theories, simply telling David that his father had become involved in a potentially dangerous project and that something must have gone awry to cause the explosion at the compound and for Jim to retreat into hiding.

"Spock..." David speaks after a long hour of driving, San Francisco now a far distant blur in Spock's rear-view mirror as they enter the hills across the river. "You would tell me if something happened to Dad, right? If you sensed something happening to him? Like, if you _heard_ it?"

"I...believe you would be able to sense it was well, David," Spock admits, swallowing. There is no doubt in his mind that if Jim were to die or suffer grave injury, Spock would be incapacitated as well, perhaps even join his beloved in death through the bond. "You would see it plainly across my face."

Turning his head, Spock casts David a long glance, meeting the child's eyes in the flashes of sunlight and shadow playing in through the windows as they crest hills and hug sharp turns in the road. Solemnly, David reaches out and places his hand over Spock's forearm for a brief moment, seeking comfort in the contact for himself as well as for Spock before he curls back up on his side of the bench seat with his head resting against the window.

As the light of late afternoon begins to fade toward evening, the two head North, all their necessary worldly possessions at this point stuffed into two small carry on bags. Spock catches fits and starts, small senses of Jim across their bond, but as the stretches of time grow longer between each moment of clarity, Spock's stomach begins to twist with renewed fear and desperation. He suppresses it for David's sake, gripping the steering wheel tightly and driving on into the night, drawing on his sense of determination and governing willpower to keep himself collected and calm. 

It is only when soft snores begin to drift from the other side of the car that Spock lets his expression relax. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, allowing the expression of fear and pain to cross his face in a weak display of his crumbling control. Silently, he mouths Jim's name, hoping that continuing to reach across their bond tirelessly will trigger some kind of response from his mate. But he realizes that in this, he is entirely alone and for the second time in so many hours, Spock rethinks his decision to bring David with him on this endeavor.

It only takes one more glance at David's face, relaxed in sleep, however, to convince Spock he has made the correct decision. All the nightmares, all the tears and the fear, the terror at being abandoned again; Spock couldn't put David through all that again. In fact, he had refused it out of disgust and anger. The directive had been yet another testament to Jim's addled state. Spock's mate would have never suggested that he place David in the hands of another, knowing full well what kind of a response it would trigger in the child. Spock wouldn't betray David's trust, not after all they had been through together and all the promises Spock had wished he could have kept. No, in this...they would strive together and bring Jim back home. Back to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	14. Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joining Spock and David on their wild chase across California and up into the state of Oregon, we'll see a little emotional bonding between the Vulcan and the child as they race after James' confusing retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baby! Blonder and five pounds lighter! Oh my GOD, my muse is coming back! Not only that, but I'm no longer super busy, at least not at the moment anyhow! So I had some time to sit down and write this chapter and it flew out of me so fast, it made me laugh. It _is_ a lot shorter than my previous chapters were, but I think I'm going to start sizing down my updates just so they can be more manageable for me and for my lovely editor [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate). 
> 
> We are getting closer and closer to the memorable bits of this story, at least for me, so in order for me to feel like I've gotten them down right, it will likely take me longer as each chapter brings our characters closer to my one and only most vivid childhood memory. So bare with me guys! I am not abandoning this fic, I am still very attached to this whole ongoing series here and have plans for the future with this timeline I've created.
> 
> I want to thank those who stuck by me through this hiatus and still have a hungry interest in my writing and this story, I am immensely flattered.  
> On another note, I do have an accompanying song for this chapter, I named this update after **Alan Walker** 's song entitled [_'Faded'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60ItHLz5WEA). I also want to apologize in advance for any errors that might be in this update, given that I'm having to remember how AO3 works again, haha! 
> 
> Please feel free to drop me a comment down below and let me know what you think!

They end up ditching the car just outside Crescent City at a fuel station just after nine o'clock that night, Spock silencing the engine and reaching across the bench seat to lightly touch David's shoulder. He wakes slowly, exhausted from the day's events and groggy, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

"Where are we?" He asks softly, the view outside the car windows unfamiliar, he and Jim must not have taken the coastal highway to San Francisco on their way in from Iowa.

"Just an hour's drive from the border of Oregon," Spock remarks, watching David's brows crease with confusion.

"Oregon...we don't know anyone in Oregon..." He grumbles, obviously still half asleep.

"Gather your things, we're making a switch," Spock instructs as he picks up what looks to be a knit hat of some kind from the back seat of their stolen vehicle. He begins wiping down the steering wheel and all other surfaces they may have touched while inhabiting the vehicle and as David climbs out of the car to stretch, Spock gets out and wipes down the car's handles and coded entry pad. He deactivates the line of code in the car's system causing it to operate undetected by search software and removes his own biological signature from the recognition software, stripping the car's systems back to factory reset and popping out the data chip in the center console with the car's history ingrained in it. It's a clean slate for anyone who might happen upon it, and satisfied, Spock gathers their things from the back seat, wiping his prints along the way before handing off David's bag to him.

David shivers violently as a coastal wind sweeps through the low trees and scrub brush native to the region, "It's freezing!" He remarks, even though it's nearly April and the weather back in San Francisco had been warmer. David crouches by the wheel of the car to rummage through his bag for a coat, tugging one out and zipping it closed clear up to his chin with an irritated expression.

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, David follows Spock around the corner of the deserted fuel stop. "I'm thirsty..." He mumbles, and Spock can hear the child's stomach rumble, feeling a clench of hunger emanating from him.

"We shall stop once we reach the next town," Spock promises, though a part of him is beginning to wonder if they are even going in the right direction any longer. It's been hours since he had last felt anything through his bond with Jim, and for all he knew, his mate could have turned east and cut across the state. He'd be nearly to Nevada by now if that were the case.

Pursing his lips, Spock pauses just before they reach the view of the illuminated windows of the fuel station building, only a single attendant on duty and manning the counter due to the late hour. Spock glances down at the knit hat in his hand and without a second thought, he pulls it down over his head until it covers his ears, causing his hair to push down over his slanted brows as well. He casts a glance at David, who eyes him in the dimly lit parking lot.

"You'll pass, I guess..." David remarks, pulling the hood up on his own coat and cinching the strings tight to draw the edges of the hood tight around his face. "Now we need sunglasses or something," he grins.

"We are not attempting to look like thieves, David," Spock says as they step up onto the sidewalk wrapping around the station shop. Ducking inside, Spock suppresses a shiver as they enter the warmer air of the store. He notes the cameras in the corners of the cramped shop but doesn't look at them as he urges David toward the back to grab bottles of water. He is looking through some rather outdated medical supplies in stock when David finds him, his arms loaded down with bottles of water, a bag of chips, a bag of sunflower seeds, and what appears to be two packets of soft food of an alarming shade of green.

"What are those?" Spock inquires, taking the suspicious baggies of neon green candies and immediately dropping them onto the shelf to his right. "Just the water and chips, David," he commands. David heaves a sigh of longing for the unhealthy snack left behind as Spock selects a pain reliever of dubious efficacy on their way to the counter.

The man behind the counter can't be any older than nineteen and casts them both a bored look, announcing the amount due after scanning their items. "That'll be fifteen-fifty, sir," he mutters.

Spock reaches into his back pocket and selects a credit chip, thankful he had decided it logical to hold onto this one, even against his earlier judgements. This credit chip was linked to a account in a banking institution presided over by Vulcan shareholders and the money he had saved in it was protected by Vulcan privacy standards and kept in an off-world account. The business had suffered greatly at the destruction of Vulcan, but as his people had rebuilt, they had started their patron's accounts over again and Spock had reapplied to keep his assets there. There would be no available record of him using this account here on Earth, frankly, because there were far too many loopholes to jump through if Starfleet made inquiries.

The bored teen bags their pitiable groceries and David collects the plastic bag as they turn to leave. "What now?" David asks, peering up at Spock nervously.

A quick survey of the parking lot has Spock's heart sinking in his side. They have very few options, for it seems that this fuel stop is the only one for another thirty to fifty miles and the only other building in accompaniment to this one is a closed up car repair shop. The teen's car sits parked around the building, a battered looking pick-up truck with a rusty paint job and fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror.

Spock and David share a glance, and the Vulcan can see the reluctant nervousness in the boy as he glances at the pick-up truck again, his shoulders bunching up in an uncertain shrug. Handing David his bag, Spock nods discretely toward the shop's windows. "Stand where you can see the man at the counter and act like you're waiting on me. I will call you over when I'm about to start the vehicle," Spock instructs as he glances around discreetly. 

There are no other customers pulling up for fuel or to recharge their batteries, so Spock slips around the building and approaches the truck. It is rather old, and upon further inspection, he notices the kid does not even bother to lock it, perhaps assuming no one would be desperate enough to steal such an unreliable looking transport. But, Spock supposes, they are desperate. The car they came in is low on gas and Spock would prefer not using his credit chip for fuel, if possible; and he knows taking one car all the way to their destination is unwise. Looking in through the window of the truck, he notes the fuel gauge and is relieved to find it nearly full.

Opening the driver's side door, Spock slides onto the bench seat and closes the door quietly, not letting it latch as he leans forward and begins to feel beneath the panel below the steering column. He yanks a set of wires out of their housing and eyes them, noting their color. He has never had to jump start a car in this fashion, most transports of the age are all computerized and digitally run, wires like this are much harder to get to in hover vehicles and do not always produce the desired effect when tampered with.

Pursing his lips, Spock glances around the interior of the truck cab for anything sharp he might use to cut through the wires. He has to rifle through the glove box before he finally finds a pair of nail clippers he uses to snip through the wires. He uses his thumbnail in combination with the clippers to strip some of the rubber back to expose the copper wires twisted beneath and he looks up, peering over at David through the window and jerking his head to motion the boy over. David is just clambering into the cab when Spock manages to touch the two ends of wire together enough to make them spark and the engine sputters then roars to life beneath them. Wincing at the loud noise, Spock shuts his door as David ducks down beneath the dashboard.

They are passing by the store's windows just as the teenager comes wandering out, a look of confusion and shock on his face. Irate indignation flashes over his expression as they peel out of the parking lot, and the young man is running and shouting behind them, picking up rocks and chucking them at their fading tail lights as Spock guns the old vehicle down the highway as fast as she'll go. His heart is beating fast in his side; he had worried that the kid might use some kind of weapon to retaliate.

Sitting upright, David turns around on the seat and peers through the back window, his eyes wide and lips parted as he comes down off an adrenaline high, the fear slowly ebbing out, tangible in the bond between them. "He's still out there, in the road...throwing stuff," he reports, and when Spock turns his head to catch the child's eye, a sheepish grin spreads across David's face and Spock can't help the terrible twitch at the corner of his mouth, amusement coloring their connection vibrantly.

"Please, do not tell your father that we stole that young man's truck...he will consider me a bad influence," Spock admonishes as David slides down in the seat, putting on his seat belt at Spock's silent urging.

"You kidding? I'd never tell Dad I helped you steal a truck..." David retorts, "although, if we stole something like uh...like a Hover Master or something, I'd have to tell him that! He'd be so jealous..."

Spock casts David a sharp look, but he cannot help the affection he feels when he receives a tired, wide smile, which replaces the earlier look of worry on David's face. "I do not condone stealing vehicles, David. Please assure me you will not follow in my footsteps when you grow older."

"I promise..." David mumbles, going along with Spock's obligatory parent lecture. He leans forward to dig his hand into the plastic sack of their purchased goods, handing Spock a bottle of water and taking a drink of his own before turning wide eyes on Spock once more. "Wait! Won't they be able to know who stole the guy's truck because we bought stuff there at the store? You know, like in holo-vids? Where they track the bad guys because they bought smokes at a pit-stop or something?" He asks, fear beginning to swell across their bond once more.

Spock's lips thin and he shakes his head minutely, setting his bottle of water aside in a dirty cup holder by his knee. "Impossible, because in order to inquire about the name under the credit chip I used this evening, one would have to speak Vulcan. If the one inquiring speaks Vulcan, they then also must answer three security questions of a personal nature I put in place as safety measures."

David is silent and Spock must turn his head to look at the boy when he still receives no remark on the matter, only to find David is sitting staring at him in shock and awe. "What is it?" Spock asks, frowning slightly, for he certainly should not be an honorable role model for the child any longer, not after tonight's antics.

"You're like James Bond!" David crows, grinning around the lip of his water bottle as he takes a sip and nearly dribbles it all down his chin when met with one of Spock's arch looks. "Say your name like he does! Say it like, 'my name is Spock... _Mister_ Spock'!" David laughs, then sobers with a blink, leaning forward across the bench seat as his curiosity is piqued. "Say, what is your name, Spock? Like, all of it?"

"You could not pronounce it," Spock warns, but as David remains curious and patiently waiting across the cab from him, Spock recites, "S'chn T'gai, Spock."

David blinks, and after a pause, utters, "Whaaat?"

"It is my clan name and not very pronounceable for the human tongue," Spock explains, holding his palm out in silent asking as David breaks into the bag of sunflower seeds.

"My name sounds pretty easy next to yours...actually, I was one of the first kids in my class able to write my full name you know," David says with a small measure of pride as he dips his hand into the bag of seeds and pours them out into Spock's waiting hand. "Yours was probably pretty hard to write, huh?"

Spock doesn't reply, because to tell a child like David that knowing how to write one's own name was easily done at three years of age for a Vulcan, would not necessarily bolster the confidence of a bright child like David. Instead, he uses a mouthful of sunflower seeds as an excuse not to reply. After a minute, David inquires in a laughing tone, "Are you eating them shell and all?"

Glancing down at the bag of seeds with an arched brow, Spock notes their black shells, "Are they not meant to be consumed in such a fashion?"

"N-No!" David laughs, spitting out a mess of shell into his own hand and rolling down the window to chuck them out into the night. "You're supposed to spit 'em out."

"That seems wasteful," Spock remarks and is pleased by David's eye-roll charged with familiar attitude; an expression much like his father's.

They are engulfed in silence once more and David soon finds that the radio in the truck doesn't work past a single station playing what sounds like terrible blues tunes, all melancholy and full of heartbreak. David uses his bag as a pillow and props it up against the window, leaning his head against it and staring out the windshield with a sullen kind of quiet that goes soul deep. Spock tries to reach Jim through their bond again, but does not receive any answers or indications of Jim's presence.

After they pass a sign marking their approach on the border into Oregon, David breaks the subdued silence by saying, "Do you think we'll catch up to him, Spock?"

Mulling his words over carefully, Spock decides to tell the truth, because sugar coating facts had never been something he believed a child deserved. "I do not know. I have not sensed him in quite a while, not since we left Twin Rocks."

The disappointment and worry is evident, not only in the way David's eyes shift to staring at the floorboards of the truck but also across their familial bond, and the sensations of those emotions sink like stones to the pit of Spock's stomach. 

By this time, it is nearly ten-thirty at night and the landscape has become dark and indeterminable through the grimy windows. It leaves them both deep in thought as the miles pass; Spock plucking at the string of his bond with James nervously and hoping beyond hope that he'll receive some kind of reply to his constant cries to his mate. David, curled up on the other side of the bench seat, thinks of what only a child longing and fearing for their parent might. It leaves him exhausted, but when a sign depicts a Denny's just over the border of the state of Oregon and coming into O'Brien, he asks, "Can we stop for food?" 

Hating that his mounting concerns for Jim had forced him to forget the common needs of his charge, Spock pulls off the highway at the exit for the township of O'Brien and they stop at the only restaurant still open at this hour. "Dad and I ate at a Denny's when we left Iowa. Dad got sick and had to throw up at the next rest stop, but I had the best pancakes ever!" He grins, retelling what obviously is some kind of oddly fond memory of his, even though Spock inwardly winces in sympathy for his mate's past misery.

The restaurant isn't entirely deserted and they seat themselves at a booth far enough away from a few rough looking older men to not garner any glances. The tabletop is sticky under Spock's fingers and he shuffles his hands into his lap to avoid the displeasing sensation as a woman in black pants and a button down shirt comes to attend them, her name tag spelling out the name 'Linda' in neat script. "What can I get you boys?" She asks, adding a tired sigh to the end of her question.

"I want some pancakes with bananas on them," David states, and at Spock's firm look adds softly, "please?"

"Sure thing, babe." The woman nods and turns her gaze on Spock, her brows lifted as she awaits his answer, but Spock has only had a moment to look at the menu she had just placed before them, obviously assuming he has dined here before and knows what he might want at this hour. "Should I come back?" She prompts as Spock hesitates.

"A side of mixed fruits would suffice." Spock replies, deciding he is not all that hungry anyway as he hands over his menu with an unimpressed glance at their waitress. Her impatience is illogical.

"Whatever you want, dear," she says, snagging the menus and tucking them under her arm as she walks off back to the kitchen area.

David's lips thin out into a dramatic grimace, his eyes wide and brows lifted in an awkward expression he casts up at Spock as she leaves, muttering, "Yeesh...no pancakes, Spock?"

Spock glances sharply toward the other occupants of the restaurant and softly murmurs, "Perhaps it would be best if you did not refer to me by my name while we are in public."

"Ohh, you mean like a code name instead?" David asks, suddenly seeming less tired and more interested, lifting his head from it's lean against his hand propped on the table. "Can I have one too?"

Spock waits for their waitress to leave after she brings them glasses of water before replying, "If you would like one, but it cannot be too unbelievable."

David's face screws up in disappointment, "So I can't have you call me like...um, Captain Underpants?"

Spock inclines his head, "I would never refer to you as such."

"Dang..." David mutters, looking away out the window and eyeing their odd reflection with Spock sporting the beanie pulled down low over his head and his long coat on, David's hood still drawn up over his head. "How about you call me James then."

"You wish for me to refer to you as your father's name?" Spock asks, frowning a fraction at the oddness of the child's request.

"Yeah," David nods, looking down into his glass of water he passes slowly across the table between his hands; back and forth, back and forth. "So we don't forget about him..."

Spock swallows, withdrawing from his connection with David to spare himself the emotions tumbling inside the child's mind; feelings of desolation, frustration, and fear. His side aches strangely and he shifts uncomfortably, but he does not deny the boy's wish, "Then if you are James, I shall take your name and be called David."

"No," David squints, shaking his head, "you don't look like a David to me," he complains.

"Then what name would you find befitting of me?" Spock inquires as a bowl of fruit is placed before him and a plate of pancakes with sliced bananas and syrup is set before David.

"Maybe...Flint!" David suggests, but at Spock's unamused expression, he falters and suggests, "Percival? Richard?"

Spock's brow arches higher the more names David suggests until the child is laughing around a forkful of pancake.

"Okay, okay...what about just Thomas or something, or Tom?"

"Thomas would suffice," Spock agrees reluctantly, spearing a slice of melon on his fork.

"It's kind of boring though...what about Axel? Or something macho like that?" Grinning, David continues to make suggestions as he eats, coming up with more and more exotic and unusual names for his own entertainment. Spock's eyes wander, surreptitiously viewing the other patrons of the restaurant and observing the comings and goings of the single attending waitress in this section of the dining area.

His sensitive hearing picks up several voices, some of those belonging to the cooks in the kitchen and a few staggered pieces of conversation between the other customers. It would appear the two rough men three tables away are truckers spending some down time over coffee, a normal routine it would appear. Another customer, a woman with a young girl in a booth across the restaurant, is on the phone arguing with someone she has presumably left and taken the child with her from, on the run from a bad relationship.

In the background, Spock notes the mutterings of an electronic voice and when he spies a holovision mounted on a wall across the restaurant, he stiffens when he sees a familiar video of the event that now comes to haunt him. The holovision is switched onto the local news broadcast and they are replaying the explosion in San Francisco; it appears the disaster has made world news. Spock's stomach twists as he, once again, witnesses the terrible mushroom cloud of smoke and flame from the explosion, caught on camera by a distant passerby. But his sickness turns to alarm when the broadcast changes to a pre-recorded press exchange. Admiral Komack stands at a podium outside Central Command, and a close-up of the Admiral's face shows his expression of disappointment and shame. Spock leans in closer, trying to catch what the Admiral says:

_"...-terrible tragedy today, and Starfleet intends to fully cooperate in the honoring of those lost in the disaster. We have been investigating the cause of the explosion, but so far, we can only assume that one of the photon torpedoes being built were accidentally detonated and caused this destruction."_

Spock's mouth runs dry, his teeth clicking together as the line of his jaw hardens into stone and disgust. It would appear that Starfleet was intending to cover their tracks and involvement with the explosion in the compound. They were claiming it had been a simple warehouse for constructing photon torpedoes, but Spock knew better than that, and any investigation made by proper professionals would easily see there had been no such weaponry evident on the premises. At least, Spock had seen no indicator that that had been what James had been working on prior to the compounds destruction this afternoon. No such project would have been so heavily classified.

Losing all appetite for his food, Spock pushes his bowl toward David and encourages the child to finish it to supplement his sugary diet and he sips his water while waiting for David to finish up. He pays their bill, and as they leave David asks to use the bathroom. Spock waits outside for him, pushing his hands deep into his coat pockets and looking up toward the dark sky with it's gloomy clouds. The air is chilled and smells of moisture, sending a bitter coldness through to Spock's bones the longer he stands outside.

When David exits the Denny's, they climb into the truck again and Spock pauses, hoping to sense a mild hint of direction from the bond that might lead them toward Jim, but he gets nothing, and so they continue on down the road heading north. "I don't think I've ever been to Oregon," David offers as they merge onto the highway again, the rattling noise of a semi-truck roaring by them and drowning his next words out so that he has to repeat himself when Spock glances toward him.

"I said," he continues, "we came through Nevada."

"Your father and you drove all the way to California from Iowa?" He had assumed that perhaps they had taken the transporter route through each state, but it would appear Jim had packed up what belongings he wished to take from Iowa, enough to fill their sedan, and had made a road trip out of it with his son.

"Yup, we did! I got to see the world's biggest carrot in Nebraska, and also the world's largest frying pan on our way out of Iowa! There's the world's largest fork in Colorado..." David lists off the road-side attractions he and his father had seen together, telling Spock about his favorites and how he almost caught a scorpion in Nevada with a hotel cup. Jim had almost suffered a heart-attack at seeing his son trying to catch it.

Eventually, David tires himself out talking and falls silent, his eyes closing tiredly as they pass through Redwood just outside Grants Pass. As they merge onto the 199 heading for the Pacific Highway, Spock begins to feel uneasy, his gut twisting with nausea that momentarily has him concerned that perhaps he was going to be the second person in this family to get sick from eating at a Denny's. But soon the sickness turns into a sharp pain, and Spock grits his teeth, pulling over onto the shoulder of the highway and turning his flashers on. The lack of movement and noise in the truck has David stirring, and by the time David opens his eyes Spock has leant forward over the steering wheel, his arm wrapped around his middle as sharp stabs of pain radiate through his abdomen.

"Spock?" David blinks fully awake, alarm infusing his tone as he slides across the bench seat and touches Spock's shoulder, "Are you okay? Are you tired too? Maybe we should stop and sleep?"

Spock shakes his head mutely, pursing his lips and keeping his eyes firmly closed as he seeks to control this pain and subdue it. He finally manages to straighten up, but the discomfort continues and it feels almost as if something is tearing through his side just below his ribcage. 

Grimacing, Spock reaches out toward his bond with James, fearing that perhaps this pain is some kind of transference from his beloved suffering an injury. When he lifts the shields around their bond, he sucks in a sharp breath as the pain he has been experiencing increases tenfold. His head snaps back against the headrest of the truck seat and he distantly hears David's alarmed cry, small hands patting his chest and shoulder, trying to get some response out of him.

" _Spock_! Spock, are you okay? What's happening?!"

**_'Jim! T'hy'la!'_ **

Biting back a groan of agony, Spock searches through their link, senses his mate's pain through their connection and tries to pinpoint a location, or at least a direction toward his intended. Because of the pain not only does he lack the focus to form coherent words through their connection, but he can only sense a vague direction, and when he withdraws entirely into himself, he is dismayed to find they have been traveling in the wrong direction. James has gone farther West, having traveled some distance away from the cutting line of the Pacific Highway and more toward Butte Falls. Through the pain, Spock grits out, "Map...let me see the map."

David scrambles to comply, emptying the contents of Spock's bag out across the bench seat and the floor of the truck until he finds the map they had snagged from their first car's glove box. He unfolds it, nearly tearing it in his haste to get it open and spread out across the steering wheel and the dashboard.

Spock leans forward and turns on the cab light in order to see better as he traces lines over the state of Oregon. "Here...he's this way," Spock remarks, his voice strained as he fights to keep himself withdrawn from the bond with James, knowing his mate is suffering some great pain. He sits in fear, hoping that this isn't the moment where their bond might snap. He cannot lose Jim now, not after all they've been through and conquered together.

"He's...going toward Lost Creek Lake?" David asks, frowning and peering down at the tiny script of the map.

"I...believe so," Spock murmurs, suddenly feeling exhausted. The pain is slowly fading, but his bond with James remains intact and he allows some of the tension to melt from his neck and shoulders, having feared the worst had come only to find it passing thankfully away. Swallowing, Spock reaches with a shaking hand for his bottle of water and David hastily retrieves it for him and opens the cap, handing it off to Spock with frightened eyes.

Taking a long sip of water, Spock sucks in his first shaking breath without pain and cracks the window for some fresh air as a light mist begins to fall from the night sky. "Is he okay?" David croaks, and Spock remembers his promises and rests a reassuring hand on David's back as the child sits tense on his knees next to Spock on the bench seat.

"He is alive, I can sense that much," Spock admits, though he wishes he could glean more from his mate, despairing as their bond still suffers this distance.

David's eyes well with tears and Spock experiences an ache at their presence as the child crumples forward to mash his face into the Vulcan's chest, relieved sobs wracking his small frame. They sit by the side of the highway a while, cars whipping past them and turning the rain water on the road into a constant spray. David's sobs soon turn into sniffles and when he crawls; exhausted--back over to his side of the bench seat, Spock leans forward to remove his coat and drapes it over the child's shivering form, smoothing back the blonde hair and wishing he was better equipped to handle the child's anguish.

Only when Spock feels he will not collapse any longer under the physical and emotional strain of a half hour ago does he turn the truck back on and start them on their way again. He turns them around at the next exit, heading them back down the Pacific Highway in hopes of perhaps catching Jim at the tiny town of Shady Cove. The roads off the highway become narrower and filled with forest views as they cut their way across the state. Spock does not receive any more insights through his bond with Jim, nor does he attempt to delve deeper into their connection, fearing a relapse into the pain of his mate.

Eventually, as they reach the turn off for Crater Lake Highway, Spock feels the exhaustion catching up to him and knows that if he continues to drive for much longer without some form of rest he would be placing himself and David in danger due to a decrease in his reflexes and responses. 

Spock pulls off the road at a rest stop and parks outside a public restroom, closing his eyes to meditate and using David's steady and rhythmic breaths to lull him toward a state of calm he had not been able to achieve for over twenty-four hours. He does not manage to center himself, but for the next hour he is able to push down the negative responses that had been plaguing him since sensing Jim's peril earlier that afternoon. He sifts down through the layers of fear and pain and finds his resolve, seeking strength there and clinging to it like a life preserver. When he opens his eyes next, it is to find David has gravitated in his sleep to rest his head against Spock's leg upon the seat.

In that moment, he comes to a decision. Even if he were to lose his beloved, even if they cannot find Jim for weeks or even months, he will not lose David, too. Resting a hand on the child's head, Spock feels his shaky resolve solidify into a sensation he is familiar with; determination. He cannot afford to be shaken around David, nor can he show weakness as he had earlier. It would only serve to frighten David further and the child had already been through enough pain.

Drawing on what calm strength he can through his bond with David, Spock reaches for the wires beneath the dashboard of the truck and jump starts it once more, pulling out onto the highway again with David's warm head curled against him on the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	15. See What I've Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our point of view changes to James for the beginning of this chapter as we follow the struggle of a conflicted man toward some unknown goal. Is he on the verge of insanity?  
> The situation looks more and more impossibly grim for Spock and David as they continue on their pursuit of one bondmate and father. They take solace in one another, strengthening their bond as Spock makes a startling, terrible discovery...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm back with another update, this one is longer than the last and I'm excited to begin writing the next one seeing as how our boys are getting closer and closer to my hometown! My birthday is this week, so I took some added time off from work and I'm hoping to be inspired to write (and perhaps to art), before I have to return to the grind. 
> 
> *******On a quick side-note, the beginning of this chapter is rather graphic from the first paragraph, all the way down to the line, _'His legs feel a little less like jelly...'_. So if you are squeamish or greatly affected by the description of wounds and/or their tending, perhaps you ought to skip down to that paragraph instead. You have been warned!*******
> 
> Once again, I want to thank my lovely beta reader, who has stuck by me throughout this hiatus and encouraged me to both be kind to myself and take a break when I need to, but to also write when I'm feeling the moods. So thank you [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate)! 
> 
> I do have _two_ song recs for this chapter, seeing as how we have two points of view going on here. For the first half of the chapter, I recommend listening to [_'See What I've Become'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWDYAJ2-Y1E), by **Zack Hemsey** , given that it's the title of the song I chose to use for the title of this chapter. My second recommendation is that you guys listen to [_'The Last Man'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUgC6215Gko) by **Clint Mansell** for Spock and David's point of view. Feel free to check those songs out, they are some of the many I listened to while writing this chapter. 
> 
> Now without further interruption, I hope you guys enjoy the next installment of _'Human Nature'_. Please let me know what you guys think!

_"MOTHERFUCKER!!"_

Searing pain clutches at Jim’s side and he opens his eyes, quickly surveying his surroundings as his breath rushes fast through his parted lips. He's in a rest stop bathroom, that much is evident from the dingy fluorescent lighting and the dilapidated cement stalls; the floor grimy and mirrors spray-painted within an inch of their life. He's slumped against that dirty floor, his back to the wall, his right hand clutching his throbbing side.

Gathering his wits about him, Jim tries not to think about how he is only now realizing where he is and what he's done, or at least...what he had thought he had done. Looking down at himself, he pulls his hand carefully away from the sticky mess of his wound where fifteen stitches are zig-zagged into his flesh. A soft sound of both alarm and confusion leaves his lips, because didn't he have some kind of dermal regenerator with him? Couldn’t he have found some other way of sealing up his own wound? But apparently, whatever or _whomever_ had thought it was a good idea to take a bobby pin and loose threads from what looked like Jim's torn up shirt to begin closing up the exit wound caused by the metal rod that had impaled him during the explosion at the compound.

The bobby pin hangs sickly from where it is still attached to the last threaded stitch and Jim weakly blocks the sight with his shaking hand again, his head knocking back against the grimy tiled wall. Panting, he stares up at the ceiling trying to focus and not pass out as his vision swims and nausea threatens to force bile up the back of his throat. Swallowing thickly, Jim tries to order his thoughts. His last memory is of leaving San Francisco and paying the toll-man. Except, that wasn't quite right either, because he couldn't remember if he actually had paid or not.

Sliding a bloodied hand about his person, Jim surprisingly finds a watch, only now noticing that...the pants he’s wearing aren’t his either. As he squints at the hour displayed on the watch, he curses when he notes how much time has actually passed since leaving San Francisco. It is just after ten o'clock at night.

"Holy fucking shit..." He gasps, dropping the watch to the floor and attempting to sit up a bit more, gritting his teeth against the pain it causes him to move as his torso flexes. Glancing up at the counter above his head, he's surprised to find a bottle of cheap gin open and waiting and a distant flash of memory assails him of hurriedly entering the bathroom, locking it, and pulling his shirt up over his head. Thankfully, the memory of pain the last time he did this is fuzzy, so he doesn't know quite how to brace himself when he reaches for the bottle and pours a generous amount across the sutures in his side.

"Nnngh- _Christ!_ " He roars, his blood thundering in his ears as he almost passes out again, his vision narrowing in a worrisome way. When the pain ebbs to a tolerable level, he looks down at his sewn flesh now cleaned of blood and briefly thanks whatever strike of utter bravery and balls had seen him through completion of these stitches.

"Bones would fucking faint if he saw this..." He grumbles, pressing his hand back into the wall behind him for leverage as he manages to roll onto his knees. Leaning forward, Jim grips the neck of the bottle of gin now sitting on the floor next to him, using it as a crutch as he waits for the room to stop spinning. Any average man probably would have blacked out, but Jim tries to keep his spirits up by conceding that he is no normal man, and least of all now, with his consciousness fading in and out and his body doing things he doesn't command it to do.

A surge of adrenaline courses through his system in the next instant and causes him to shoot to his feet with a hoarse yell, catching himself on the edge of the counter lining the sinks. The bottle clinks on the cheap Formica surface as he sets it down and drags trembling fingers back through his hair. Slapping the taps on, he cups a palm beneath the cool water and wipes it down his face, throwing some onto the smudged mirror and getting his first look at himself since before disaster struck.

He is sickly and pale looking, the skin around his eyes seeming bruised with grime smudged down the sides of his face and neck. His hair has little bits of asphalt and metal shavings in it and he brushes some of it out, pieces sticking to his damp face. His right arm shifts toward the bottle of gin again without conscious thought, nearly knocking it over with the clumsiness of shock. Smirking mirthlessly, Jim tightens his fingers around the neck of the bottle and mutters, "Oh, so you want the gin, huh? This too much for ya?" But the voice in his head is terribly silent.

Pursing his lips, he straightens up and lifts the bottle to his mouth, taking a swig of the stinging liquor and wiping the back of his hand across his chin. Setting the bottle again by the sink, he twines his fingers around the extra length of thread trailing down from his last stitch, sucking in a sharp breath and breaking it off, casting the bobby pin aside onto the counter.

Turning before the mirror, Jim gingerly inspects the entry wound at his back and knows there isn't any hope he'll be able to do that one any such justice, not unless he wants to stay awake and learn how to become a contortionist. So he takes off his shirt and wraps it tightly around his middle, packing the wound at his back with some tissue from one of the toilet stalls.

His legs feel a little less like jelly by the time he turns to leave. He finds a bag on the floor by the door and realizes that...somehow, he must have stolen it. There's a wallet in the outer pocket and Jim opens it and skims the name: Richard Lazere. He snorts, shaking his head and wiping a hand down over his face again with mixed feelings of shame and disbelief. How he'd been so smooth as to steal something like this without any memory of it has to speak volumes about his departure from normal behavior.

Digging a clean shirt out of the bag, Jim dons it and carefully slings the bag over his good shoulder. Outside, a light drizzle cools the air and he squints under a harsh halogen lamp mounted on the wall behind him. The rest stop is deserted save for a single long-distance freighter parked clear across the lot with it's lights off, the driver probably asleep in the back. So the only other car parked before him must be what he had been driving. He blinks, shocked by the model. It's a newer model hover vehicle, one of the kinds with fancy interior designed by some celebrity with more bells and whistles than Jim would know what to do with. In the back of his mind, he knows he would have no way in hell been able to figure out how to hack into this thing's security system just to be able to get inside it, let _alone_ make it run. The thing had facial recognition, retinal scanning _and_ a five star alarm system.

And yet, when he reaches into his pant's pocket, he finds the thumb key.

Glancing around, Jim presses his thumb over the sensor pad and the car audibly unlocks, the lights flicking on and the engine already turning over as the car lifts a few inches off the ground, propulsion systems powering online.

"Mother of God, if the cops catch up to me, I'll be paying this crime off for the rest of my life," Jim mutters as he throws the stranger's bag into the front seat and climbs in after it, gingerly situating himself and wincing as sharp stabs of pain lance through his side every time he bends at the waist.

It's only when he moves to program the vehicle's flight pattern that he realizes he has no fucking clue where he's supposed to be going. He sits there, waiting, wondering if some epiphany will come to him like the moment back in San Francisco when he'd known to run. He glances at a road sign erected at the exit ramp of the rest stop, a large arrow pointing down the road toward the freeway labeled 'Bend'.

Bend? Where was that, Oregon? Holy hell, he'd driven all the way into Oregon? No wonder it was goddamn raining outside, and so _green_. But where was he supposed to go from here? He didn't know anyone in Oregon, nor did he think he could return to California. Something tells him that is a bad idea, and when he settles against the seat, stretching his leg out past the pedals to try and ease the cramping in his side; his vision whites out alarmingly and he jerks in shock as a flash of a memory not his own comes to him like in a dream.

 

_He's standing in a convenience store, damp from head to toe from the rain outside, his body turned toward the refrigerated drink options. This seems familiar, like he had really been here and he could remember picking out a bottle of water and some kind of tea. When he turns his head toward the counter, he sees a guy behind it reading a magazine, above his head a small holovision flickers, the reception bad. Not so bad that he can't read the subtitles scrolling at the bottom of the program, though, and not so shoddy that he doesn't recognize the face displayed on the news broadcast._

**_'If you've seen this man, don't approach but call 9-1-1 immediately. He was last seen by his family Tuesday morning before leaving for his place of employ and has not been heard from since the destruction of Warehouse 301 late this afternoon. He was driving a Honda XC-55 Sedan If you or anyone you know has information regarding Lieutenant James T. Kirk, please notify authorities immediately.'_ **

_Quickly averting his gaze, Jim turns to scan the bags of chips and other various snacks, his back to the counter. With his image plastered all over the screen, Jim is sort of glad he looks like hell warmed over. Pulling his hood down a little further on his head, he shrugs off the incident, because it wasn't like the attendant had been watching the screen. But how many times had he seen the program already?_

_Gripping the stolen wallet in his back pocket, Jim wanders up to the checkout counter and puts his water and tea down, snagging something random from the refrigeration unit beside the register and slapping it down on the counter as well. He gets rung up without managing to lift his head, pretending to flip through the credit chips and I.D. in the wallet until the cashier mutters dully, "Eight eighty-seven, please. Need a bag?"_

_Jim flips a credit chip over his fingers toward the guy and glances up, noting the staring gaze directed at him and feeling his blood run cold as the man squints at his face, taking the credit chip and sliding it through the reader. "You look familiar..." he finally says, cocking his head to the side._

_"I am told this quite frequently." It's Jim's voice that comes forth, but they aren’t Jim's words and he nearly chokes at their stoicism, the cashier giving him a weird look before handing him his chip back. "No bag is necessary, thank you."_

_Sweeping his newly purchased items off the counter in one arm, Jim turns to leave, his heart racing in his side. No, that isn't right...in his chest._

 

A shiver rolls through Jim as he snaps out of the memory like a man coming up for air out of black waters. His chest heaving, Jim drops his face into his hands and groans, his head pounding in earnest. This was really beginning to freak him the fuck out. Peering between his fingers, Jim notes the half drunk bottle of water and the empty bottle of tea.

_Tea?_ He _never_ drank tea, he hated tea! Coffee had always been his go to 'upper'; tea was Spock's beverage of choice. That aside, what was with the way he'd been talking back there?

Wrapping shaking fingers around the pilot's wheel, Jim seeks a measure of calm, but he is beginning to notice now that the solid form of calm he’s come to rely on as of late can no longer be felt. The bond with Spock is..noticeably mute and rather distant, as if it too was only a memory and Jim feels his heart give a terrified little quake. Has something happened to Spock too? What if they had detained him back at home, had thought to interrogate him for any information on Jim's whereabouts? The thought turns Jim's stomach with another wave of sickness and he nearly opens the driver's side door to expel whatever terribleness he could manage out onto the pavement. He manages to refrain, but just barely.

Then another thought comes to him - what of David? Had Spock gotten him into protective custody as Jim had asked? The urge to find a phone and try to call Spock's comm is a hard one to ignore and he glances up and down the sidewalk before the restroom, but there were no other buildings he could inquire within for a phone. Instead, he makes a silent promise to himself that once he finally gets somewhere that feels _safe_ , he'll call Spock and David. He doesn't know how, especially if he is trying to keep a low profile, but he’ll find a way. Even if it means building himself a damn phone from scratch.

Putting all his questions at the back of his mind, Jim purses his lips and does his best to also ignore the constant pain in his side. More gin would help, but he had left it behind in the bathroom and did not relish the thought of getting out again to collect it. Besides, piloting a car capable of driving itself while under the influence was still a crime and he could not afford to get pulled over right now.

When he finally figures out how to put the car in reverse so he can back out of his parking spot, Jim wonders how in hell he'd managed to get this far without knowing how to pilot the thing. The ride is completely silent, even on the freeway, given that his wheels don't touch the ground as he engages the hover systems. Switching the autopilot on, he leans back in his seat and slides a hand in between his hip and the waistband of his jeans, letting out a breath as that takes some of the pressure off the cramping in his side. A part of him is distantly aware that he might need to visit a hospital at some point, but the rest of him rebels at the thought. Hospitals were dangerous now, he could be recognized and reported. Granted, he could try to escape, but depending on the severity of his treatment, that could be virtually impossible.

He's still considering his dwindling options and not paying much mind to his route when his right hand lifts toward the steering wheel and takes over piloting. He blinks, staring at his hand where it clutches the wheel.

_'This exit...'_

Jim starts in shock as the voice in his mind, which is now growing more recognizable, directs his mind as well as his body. Frowning, Jim fights for control over his right hand, the muscles in his bicep flexing strenuously as he fights back whatever is trying to instill a docile retreat within his body. Gritting his teeth, Jim manages to uncurl two fingers from the wheel before he gets a reprimand from a presence he recognizes with horror.

_'Stop struggling, Mr. Kirk, or you will injure us further.'_

Another flash of memory comes unbidden, this time an image of long fingers reaching toward his face, of cruel pain erupting throughout his head and shorting out all his other senses. Of losing control of himself and of his very mind, all secrets lost and all information gained. He gasps as he shakes the memory off, his head pounding now as he tries to forget the terror and panic that causes his heart to race, the image of Professor T'Mal fading from his mind's eye.

"You fucking bitch, what have you done to me?" He hisses, his head sagging back against the headrest as he loses command of his left arm, that hand curling around the wheel opposite his right.

_'What was needed in order to further our cause.'_

"Cause?" Jim questions aloud, appalled, "What cause? You mean _your_ project?! The cause that I was just about to up and quit today?" He rants, frustrated and, much to his shame, afraid. His arms are numb, as if they are no longer a part of him, and as his vision begins to darken again he cries out desperately:

_**'Spock!’** _

Jim’s image, reflected in the rear-view mirror, changes subtly as the very essence of his mind is pushed aside, dominated by the second inhabitant who seeks control over him. His blue eyes narrow minutely, no longer weak with pain and exhaustion but focused and calm, burning with determination and lacking all empathy and self-pity. His head straightens, as does his posture in the seat, the pain of the transport ignored as the Professor conquers each negative sensation while subduing the clawing mind residing with her own inside Jim’s skull.

"Shut up." It is Jim's voice, but clipped and drained of emotion as she snaps at the pitiful voice shrinking away from her mind. "I know where we're going, you do not."

Turning the car off the freeway, they take the next exit directing them toward Baker City.

/OoO\

The dawn has never looked so pale to Spock as when he opens his eyes from a short rest in their third stolen vehicle. Both he and David are slumped in the seats of a mid-sized sedan parked at a lookout point for Warm Springs outside Madras. They had driven all night until Spock, fatigued from the mental backlash from his bond with Jim, had pulled off the road in order to rest his eyes. He had been timid about plucking at the string of his bond with James since the incident last night, fearing another overwhelming swell of agony and terror, but he reaches out toward it now.

Something had awoken him, he doesn't know quite what, but a shift of some kind had occurred while he and David had slept, a new feeling creeping past the thin veil between himself and Jim. A feeling he...doesn’t like in the least; a feeling of desolation and regret.

_'James...? Can you hear me?'_ He puts forth this plea tentatively, and when he gets no reply, as has become the norm, Spock slumps back against the driver's seat and closes his eyes. David is still at rest in the back seat, so Spock lifts his hands and presses their heels into his eyes, physically holding back the strains of emotion roiling inside him and warring with each other for expression. He wants to scream, to cry out in indignation and fear, to take hold of something alive in his hands and end it if it would mean getting his Jim back. But even this imagination of violence doesn't appall him as it might have in the past, but rather inflames him.

Gritting his teeth, he lets himself steep in his pit of anger just a little while longer before forcing it down to the deepest part of his psyche. He uses the comforting memories of his mother to drag himself back from his urge to strike something and breathes out a long, slow breath. It isn't easy to let it all go, but one glance up at the rear-view mirror to witness the sleeping face of the child in his charge quells his anger and frustration. If anyone should be railing against the odds it should be David, and so Spock swallows his fears and righteous feelings of injustice to focus on that single fact instead. David hasn't shed a single tear since leaving San Francisco, hasn't cried or screamed or acted illogically. What kind of a Vulcan was he if Spock could not even control himself as well a nine year-old?

Shamed, Spock wipes a hand down over the day's growth of beard beginning to shadow his cheeks and chin and opens the car door, stepping out into the chilly morning air to stretch his legs. He glances around and, not seeing a car or hearing anything aside from wildlife noises for nearly a mile, Spock trudges down over the embankment next to the road, skirting scrub-brush and approaching the deep blue waters of the Deschutes River. Squatting down, he cups his hand in the freezing river and splashes that water up over his face, sucking in a ragged gasp at the shock of it.

He lingers there a moment, crouched beside the river, his forearms braced across his knees and his gaze directed upstream. At what point was he going to have to consider calling this search off? At what point did he just come to terms with the fact that Jim had slipped through his fingers and could be anywhere by now? What reassurances did Spock have that Jim hadn't jumped the nearest transport and ended up clear across the country by now? His internal sense seems faulty when he tries to judge the distance between himself and Jim, and at the moment, the normal directional pull Spock feels from their proximity is severely limited. Spock senses almost nothing from Jim, his sense of direction impaired when it comes to pointing in the direction of his mate.

A car door shuts loudly behind Spock and he turns his head, looking up the embankment in time to see David stumble to the guardrail rubbing his eyes tiredly. He ambles down the shifting gravel and sand to join Spock at the shoreline and stares listlessly down at the lapping water. "How's Dad?" He asks softly, and the sensation of hope blooming across their bond from David has Spock aching.

"He is...distant," Spock settles, because saying he can barely feel his bond-mate any longer would not only alarm David, but himself as well. Perhaps if he doesn't face the truth, it will never come to pass.

Rather than become sullen, David is overwhelmed by a sudden fit of pique and he bends sharply and picks up a thick rock, chucking it savagely out into the water with a resounding splash that seems swallowed by this massive landscape of desert and persevering greenery. "FUCK!" David crows, making Spock blink rapidly at the sudden outburst. He rises slowly, watching David kick more rocks out into the water and chuck whatever he can get his fingers around out into the calm river.

It's only when Spock catches a glimmer of tears on David's rounded cheek that he reaches out to grasp the child's shoulder, forestalling him from throwing the largest rock yet. David tries to shake him off, wrenching his shoulders aside and snarling his anguish, but Spock is stronger and manages to wrestle the rock out of David's grasp and drop it to the sandy ground. David whirls on Spock, shoving his fists into a solid torso and raising his voice against the Vulcan in incoherent screams and shrieks of rage and frustration. Every emotion Spock had been feeling but a moment ago, David expresses violently and seemingly without end until Spock grasps the beating fists that assail him and lifts David up by the arms until his feet no longer touch the ground and kick and flail uselessly.

"Put me down!" David shouts, his voice hoarse from his screams and from the tears choking his throat. "Put me down right now! Put me down, Spock, put me down!!" He bellows and Spock oddly finds this display less barbaric than he would have expected. David's pain is raw and matches his own, and in an interesting turn, Spock finds a seed of calm within himself in contrast to David's rapid descent into incoherent sobbing. When David's flailing kicks and contorting body finally settle Spock draws him in until he can wrap him in an embrace that causes the Vulcan to wince inwardly. David's emotions are so raw and sharp that they threaten to overwhelm Spock, their familial bond ragged from the abuse of those emotions passing through it.

Tears stain the collar of Spock's shirt where David's face is pressed into his neck, his fists wringing the material of Spock's clothing over his chest as the child all but clings to him. David sags into his grief exhaustedly, breathing so swiftly that Spock fears he might begin to hyperventilate, and he takes David back up the embankment and rests him on the guardrail, bending before the boy and taking him by the shoulders until their eyes meet. David's are red- rimmed and puffy from his tears, his entire face flushed with his exertion and sounding winded. David whispers, "We're never going to find him..."

Like a knife in his side, Spock feels that desolate statement jab him under the ribs, their bond subjecting him to new feelings of guilt and sorrow. "We will," he murmurs, trying to inject as much strength and command into his tone as he can muster, but it isn't enough and David hangs his head, his hands limp in his lap with trembling fingers twining together.

Falling into a crouch, Spock looks up into the dear face of Jim's son, of _their_ son. "He is alive, he is well, and he is on the move," Spock states, his voice hard and stern. It attracts David's attention, his blue eyes lifting toward Spock's face with uncertainty plain in their depths. "But if we stay here and continue to exert our energies, he will slip farther away. The more time we waste, the longer it will take us to catch up."

"But you can't even _sense_ him, can you?" David asks, his voice growing agitated again, but the slope of his shoulders belies his anger."He could be _states_ away now, right?"

Spock shifts to sit upon the edge of the guardrail alongside David, closing his eyes and muting the bond between himself and the child in hopes of gaining new focus without its distraction now. Nothing seems to have changed, the bond is silent as ever, but he lets the memories and passions of his mate cascade through his mind, hoping that their proximity to his thoughts might encourage a sense of direction.

"Spock?" David intones, confused. He doesn't touch Spock however, patiently waiting for the Vulcan to open his eyes once more.

"We will continue North, perhaps we will intercept him before he reaches Washington." Spock murmurs, opening his eyes and squinting at the sudden glare of sunlight, the blazing orb just now cresting the low hill across the river from them. "He has not been traveling long enough to have traversed the whole state of Oregon by this point, David. He is still within our reach. Perhaps if I meditate this morning, his direction will become clearer to me."

Getting to his feet, Spock gently takes the child's elbow and helps him up, walking with him back to their stolen transport and opening the back passenger door for him to climb in. Before David gets up into the seat however, he turns to Spock with guilt evident in his gaze and he sniffs, wiping the back of his hand across his face and murmuring, "I'm...real sorry I hit you like that."

"I can...understand your fury, David. Though I do not believe it healthy to take out rage on another being, I will not condemn you for it." David stares up at him for a long moment, processing what had just been said. Spock continues softly, "I, too, am frustrated by our lack of progress and do not fault you for your outburst."

David's eyes drop to the gritty pavement between them, his fingers picking at the hem of his shirt as he murmurs, "I won't do it again...promise." Taking a single step forward, David twines his arms around Spock's waist and presses his face into the soft sweater over the Vulcan's stomach, his words muffled as a small wave of embarrassment buffets his bond with Spock. "I'll be strong too. For dad, and for you."

Pursing his lips, Spock rests his hand a top David's warm head and strokes sunshine filled locks, the ragged edges of his control and mental shields somewhat soothed by the thoughtful and brave nature on display for him now. It is not unlike Jim, this behavior, and Spock repeats his own promise to himself. No matter what happens now, he will not lose David too.

They climb back into the car together, David rummaging through his bag for one of the few items of entertainment he had brought with him, distracting himself by practicing one of the little magic trick trinkets in his possession and hoping to get it down right before he sees his father again. Spock drives on through the valleys and hills toward The Dalles. Out this far, the fuel stations and the towns are so small and far apart that they keep the sedan a while longer, even having to fill up just outside Maupin before continuing on.

Around one in the afternoon, they stop to eat at a diner and hotel called _'Cousins' Restaurant and Lounge'_. The two of them walk into the ridiculously red painted establishment, David looking around inquisitively and once again in less subdued spirits. "This place looks like a barn," he murmurs. "Do you think this is one of those places that kills the chicken out back, Sp- ...er, Thomas?" David corrects his slip, adjusting sunglasses on his face. A pair that they had found in the sedan which were at least one or two sizes too large for him.

There is a gift shop to their left as they walk in and Spock notices a variety of home-spun looking items, including checked hand towels and big stick candy lollipops too large for any sane child. They walk past a room entirely painted white and black, designed to look like a herd of cows, evidently, and designated 'The Milk Room'. They are seated by a hostess beside a large, green and yellow painted tractor. 

David eyes it speculatively, "You think they use that sometimes and then put it back?"

"I should think not," Spock murmurs softly as they sit; he does not remove his beanie, preferring to remain inconspicuous. Their hostess leaves them with two menus and Spock glances over the fare, somewhat dismayed to see that almost every option on the menu comes with some kind of meat in it.

"Spock, they have _ribs_ ," David hums, his head lifting, and Spock's only indication that the child is actually looking at him from behind those dark shades.

"I believe you can take your sunglasses off," Spock murmurs, "just keep your hood on, James." How could the child even see the menu with those glasses on?

A waitress approaches their table, setting down two mason jars of water before them and greeting them with, "Hi-ya, cousins! What can I get started for you two?"

Spock blinks, taken aback. He had never been called 'cousin' before, and certainly not in such a manner. The woman smiles broadly, the kind of smile Spock notices doesn't touch the eyes. This woman must hate her job, he surmises. David looks up from his menu and casts Spock a beaming grin, "Can I have a milkshake?"

"As long as you order a vegetable," Spock compromises, having heard that line enough times from Jim to know it's standard with David.

Sighing, David looks down at his menu again before glancing up and ordering, "Can I have the mac and cheese, please?"

"Certainly, honey." The woman smiles and writes the order down on a pad of paper, "what kind of milkshake did you want?"

"Chocolate, please," David murmurs, folding his arms across his open menu and cocking his head at Spock.

After finding the mac and cheese on the menu, Spock does note that it includes vegetables, and so he flips to the front of the menu again and asks, "Is it possible for me to have a salad with the chicken removed?"

"Sure, I can do that," their waitress promises, taking down the rest of Spock's order before collecting their menus and wandering back across the restaurant.

"This place is cool," David remarks as he picks up his mason jar of water in both hands, taking a nervous drink from it. "This is heavy..." He grumbles, setting the jar back down.

"It...certainly has character," Spock agrees softly. This is exactly the kind of restaurant he knows Jim would appreciate and thinking of his bond-mate now makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. It's been thirteen hours since the last time Spock had sensed anything directly from their bond and that passage of time is beginning to worry him.

Noticing that David also seems thoroughly subdued, Spock asks softly, "How is your progress learning how to use that bending spoon?" David had spent the last three hours practicing with the little magic toy and Spock had caught glimpses of the progress through the rear-view mirror, but he had been unable to surmise the point of the trick.

Staring out the window to their left, David shrugs slightly, "Fine, I guess. I can't figure out how to make my fingers keep the audience from seeing me unclip the magnets," he grumbles, leaning an elbow on the table and dropping his chin down into his hand.

"Perhaps a distraction is required? A movement or a phrase?" Spock suggests, watching David mull this suggestion over before straightening up and squinting across the table at Spock.

"You mean like saying, 'abra-cadabra?"

"Indeed," Spock arches a brow at the unfamiliar word. It would certainly distract him in wondering what that word meant... "Or practice doing the procedure one-handed so you might use the other for embellishments." Since learning of David's interest in magic, Spock had done a little practical research on the hobby. He had never seen a magic show in his life; there had been no such pastime on Vulcan, and the thought of learning illusion in order to impress others had seemed like a waste of time at that point in his life. However, in his research, he had noticed each magician had their own style and would often gesticulate wildly or move about their preforming stage erratically in order to keep the audience at a loss as to what was happening exactly at any given time during the performance.

"Oh, you mean like doing a 'Vanna White'?" David asks, winning a quizzical glance from Spock for his remark.

"I do not know of whom you speak of."

"Some lady Dad said used to be on T.V. a long, long time ago. She would display prizes on game-shows and move her hands about, like this," David sits up in his seat and holds up his jar of water in one hand, and with the other he whips his fingers in a wild flourish before the jar, as if enticing the viewer. Spock blinks, quelling the bubble of amusement that tries to crawl it's way out of his chest at the vision of ridiculousness David presents in this act.

"I see," he murmurs, his voice thin from the effort of keeping his amusement at bay. "Then yes, a 'Vanna White' would certainly be distracting to your audience."

"Mkay." David grins, and a moment later his milkshake arrives and he drinks nearly half before Spock asks him to save the rest for his meal so he might have an appetite.

They eat their food and pay the bill, both of them using the restroom before departing. Out in the parking lot, Spock's steps crunch across the gravel toward their sedan and David scurries for the front passenger side door. "Can I sit up here with you this time?" He asks, his fingers already wrapped around the locked door handle.

Spock reaches into his pocket for the thumb key, but as he draws it out, his steps falter and he staggers the last step toward their car and has to brace his hand against the rear gate. His eyes are wide and staring at the ground, his head dipped low over his chest as his breathing becomes shallow and focused. He had thought he felt something from the bond, a tugging, almost as if someone were testing it and trying to reach across it. But it isn't Jim…

Frowning deeply, Spock turns and sits down heavily on the bumper of their vehicle, his hands beginning to shake as this odd trespasser pulls again at his bond with Jim.

"Spock?" David comes around to the back of the sedan, a look of cautious worry in his eyes as he dips his head, trying to see Spock's face.

Holding up one trembling hand, Spock curls his fingers into a fist to stop it from shaking and silently asking David to be still and silent as Spock slowly turns in on himself. He deliberates, but eventually decides that no matter the impossibility of this situation, he must discover what has happened to James. So, as he had been for the past twenty-four hours, he scrutinizes his bond with Jim again.

Immediately, Spock is aware of something _wrong_. This isn't Jim, though he can faintly feel his mate still, it is as if this entity is stronger and in more control at the moment. The voice is soft, and he does not recognize it right away.

_'It would be unwise to continue following.'_

Spock pales, because the only way this stranger would know he had been coming after his mate was if they had been spying on him through the bond. Such a great intrusion into the privacy of a bond is repulsive to Spock and his head spins with nausea once more. _'Who are you?'_

_'I need him for this, for the work. I will relinquish him once I have finished.'_

_The work._ Spock feels sick and he swallows down the acrid taste of bile when he is struck by a sudden realization. This...is the professor. Was she with Jim? Had they escaped the compound together and was she holding him hostage for her own purposes? Why was she melded with James then, why had she thought it logical to invade their bond in order to speak with him? Did she fear him so much that she thought to warn him off? Was it fear, or was it cruelty and desperation brought on by a mind gone mad?

"Spock!" David's voice seems distant and far off, but when he lifts his eyes and manages to once again _see_ the solid reality around him, David is standing right before him, his small hands wrapped around Spock's shoulders where he's been presumably shaking the Vulcan to elicit some response.

Grasping David's wrists, Spock murmurs softly, "Get in the car, David."

"But-" David begins, but Spock does not allow him to argue.

" _Now,_ " he commands, and he notes the moment David goes from being concerned to shocked. He pulls away slowly and Spock lets go of the child's wrists, taking a moment longer to collect himself on the bumper of the sedan before getting to his feet. He has blocked the bond, beginning to fear what this woman is capable of based upon her methods. He had heard of secondary mental rape, but only from history books. His ancestors, before the age of Surak, had used it as a form of interrogation and torture. If a mated pair were captured, they were often questioned separately and tortured for information, and if they would not talk, the interrogator would enter the mind of one and use the bond between the mates to reach the other, inflicting great pain and sometimes even death.

Picking his keys up off the ground, Spock climbs into the driver's seat and stares out the windshield, feeling David's curiosity and fear even though the child is resolutely not looking over at him. Gently, Spock murmurs, "I apologize. I was...overwhelmed. But in any event, I need you to obey me when I ask you to do something. Do I make myself clear?"

Glancing at David in the passenger seat, Spock notes the downcast eyes and the slight, nervous fidgeting. He answers Spock sullenly, nodding minutely and turning his head to stare out the window, averting his eyes even as Spock senses the hurt in the boy across their bond. The sensation brings with it more fear for Spock, because if the professor can reach Spock through his bond with Jim, who is to say she cannot also reach David across his bond with Spock?

This terrifying thought only cements in his mind that from this moment on he cannot let his guard down or succumb to weakness. As much as it pains him, he must now regard his bond with James as compromised and possibly a danger to himself and to David. David's safety, in a way, is solely in Spock's hands from here on out and Spock feels the weight of that settling on his shoulders heavier than had the weight of four hundred crewmen. Nothing in his life has prepared him for this moment of shock and revulsion. This was one of those things never ever spoken of, a shameful part of Vulcan's past, a barbaric war tactic. And this...this is now definitely war.

One positive thing had come from the contact through the bond however, Spock did sense a direction. They needed to head West. Jim was ahead, at least two hours of travel time from their current location and Spock was beginning to feel like they were going around in circles. At this rate, they may end up back at the coast again. "Please engage your seat-belt, David," Spock warns as he turns the vehicle on, finding some shred of determination to keep these horrifying revelations to himself. David did not need to know that he could, quite possibly, be in danger. In danger because of Spock.

Taking in a long, deep breath, Spock takes them out onto the road again, heading for Interstate Eighty-Four. When he glances over at David, the child has laid his head against the side of the door panel, his eyes closed, but Spock knows he isn't sleeping. A sliver of guilt creeps in past his worry and distraction, realizing that having spoken sharply to David was somewhat out of his character and had probably shocked the boy. An apology rises to his lips again, but before he can speak it, David murmurs, "We should take Dad to _Cousins'_."

"I believe he would enjoy that. Perhaps on our way home," Spock offers, and just like that, the tension in the car melts away and Spock, oddly, feels forgiven. David finds a book in his bag and begins reading to himself quietly while Spock drives in silent solitude. The miles turn over on the digital odometer, and with every mile gained, Spock turns this new problem over in his mind, seeking out some possible solution. For once, he is glad for the phaser tucked into the waistband of his jeans, realizing that if the Professor is indeed holding Jim against his will, he would not balk at wounding her in order to gain Jim’s release. Jim is his bond-mate, and as his soul longs to be reunited with the one he calls _T'hy'la_ , so does he know that this war is his to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	16. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow Spock and David through their short sojourn in 'Bridge Town' as Spock catches the scent again, sending them bound for the coast once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, it's me, the elusive ChemicalOrgasm. No, I'm not dead and gone for good, haha. And here is the awaited chapter 16! It's been sitting half finished on my laptop for a long time now, awaiting my inspiration and motivation.  
> Due to some events in my life, it's been really hard to sit down and write again, let alone enjoy it like I used to. But that love and passion is slowly returning again (with the aide of lovely music).  
> Recently, my grandmother (the inspiration for this portion of the story), was diagnosed with breast cancer and has been fighting the good fight for a little over three weeks now. Her struggle has kind of sapped some of my inspiration, but as she seeming to be doing well at the moment, it's starting to all come back again. 
> 
> I want to make a very special thank you to my editor and friend, [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate). She has been really supportive and understanding during this time for me and I couldn't have asked for a better person to be checking up on me and generally being a good friend. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Note: My posting schedule will be erratic again for a while, but I do intend to finish this story (there's just no telling how long it will take me now). Although, the continued interest in my fics have been a great inspiration to me as of late. So thank you!**
> 
>  
> 
> The song that saved this chapter for me is actually where I got the title for this installment. If you would like, go ahead and check out [_'The Departure'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQTgEdghAOA) composed by **Max Ritcher**. It's a really beautiful and inspiring piece and the playlist it was buried in triggered the writing need in me again.

They spend a night in Portland after taking a turn off the Interstate 84 that leads them on a wild chase through Sandy and the Gresham region with Spock swearing he's on the right trail, but knowing that he could be being misled as well. If the Professor had reached him across his bond with Jim, who was to say she could not also intentionally misdirect him through it as well? They had nothing else to go on, however, so Spock had followed his instinct, something he has not relied on heavily since his Captaincy.

When he opens his eyes he is staring up at a plain white plastered ceiling, shadowy and dark at this early hour. It's nearly four in the morning, and when Spock rolls over in bed he notes David's still form huddled under the sheets of the second double bed in the room. David had argued with Spock on their way into the city, his voice cracking with the strength of his emotions, trying to convince Spock to keep driving on through Portland.

"David, we have not stopped to rest for two days. You have not been getting proper sleep and I need to rest as well," Spock argues, his voice pitched low as to not brook any argument.

But that doesn't keep David from trying, "But if we stop, we could lose him! He could be miles away by the time we get around to leaving in the morning!"

"David, do you sincerely believe your father is driving all this time without also stopping to rest? He needs to switch vehicles and acquire sleep and sustenance just as much as we do." In fact, if he is in an injured state, as Spock believes him to be, he could be requiring more stops than even they have needed. He does not make this remark to the child, who curls his legs in on his seat and sits sullenly on their way into the metropolis.

They pass over a large, white arched cable bridge over the Willamette River and in the darkness of night, the entire bridge is lit up with lights. Glancing out over the water on their way across, Spock notes several other bridges crossing the river into the city. It is no wonder they call this city 'Bridge Town'.

After considering how long they have been in the sedan they stole, Spock makes a spur of the moment decision and takes them on a route into the downtown area. He parallel parks the sedan into a spot on Morrison and SW 3rd Avenue. The area requires you buy a parking pass, but Spock doesn't bother after wiping down the interior and exterior handles for their prints. They take all their trash and belongings with them as they step out onto the brick sidewalk.

David turns in a full circle with his head tipped back, looking at all the tall cement buildings around them. "This looks a lot like San Francisco," he remarks as Spock plants a hand behind his shoulders and directs him up the street through the crowds seeking nightlife activities. They melt into all the people and reach what looks to be an electric rail station. Standing on a platform, Spock buys them two one-hour passes to use the light rail train and, as they have time to wait, they duck into a corner convenience store and purchase a boxed meal for David and a plastic bowl of salad for Spock, as well as two new hats. Spock switches out his preferred beanie for a baseball cap he pulls down to shadow his face, tucking the tips of his ears in beneath it under the cover of darkness out on the train platform. David also dons his smaller cap, one emblazoned with the phrase _'Oregon Ducks'_ across the front, pulling his hood up over it so only the visor of the hat pokes out.

It begins to drizzle as they await the train and Spock hands David his ticket as they board a slim, white two-car train heading for Hillsboro. David eats his boxed meal while it's still warm, while Spock watches the buildings pass and decides they ought to get off in the inner city still. So four stops later they disembark at Pioneer Square. Having no communicator with which to search local hotels or inns, Spock risks asking a group of revelers, who point him toward a street leading away from the bricked square.

"How much farther?" David mumbles, tired from their trek as they walk down sidewalks lit with yellowed street lamps, the cacophony of cars and buses passing by them no less than what Spock assumes to be the heavy traffic hour. This city must never sleep.

"I believe that sign means only a minute more," Spock intones as he directs David's gaze up toward a neon light hanging off the side of a large brick building which indicates a hotel. They duck out of the mist and under a green awning advertising the _Pioneer Square Hotel_. David nearly takes off his cap as they go inside, but Spock forestalls him with a hand on his shoulder as they approach the front desk through a tastefully decorated foyer. But in this moment, Spock could care less if this hotel were state of the art or not, as long as they have a room available.

He should have addressed this issue sooner, but a stubborn sense of determination had kept him from realizing how exhausted he had become. No meager amount of meditation could bring him peace, not when his body was beginning to rebel against him. He could no longer sufficiently focus and he knew that if he did not gain proper rest within the hour, his mental defenses would begin to break down, and he refused to endanger himself or David with that possibility.

They are given a key to their room and rather than an elevator, they find a staircase that leads them up two flights to the third floor, where they let themselves into a room with two double beds, a chair, a dresser and armoire, a tiny holovision, and an acceptable bathroom. They drop their bags at the ends of their beds and David claims the one near the window, placing Spock in the naturally defensive position between the child and the door. "Attend to what you must before bed, David," Spock instructs as he sits down on the edge of his bed and pulls out his phaser from the waistband of his pants, checking the charge and setting it down on the nightstand before rising to remove his jacket.

David takes the first shower, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and clean clothes on, causing Spock to comment, "Did you not bring suitable sleep attire?"

"I forgot," David mutters, climbing into bed in jeans and a t-shirt, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling for a few moments before reaching for the holovision remote resting on the nightstand between their beds.

Picking up the phaser, Spock takes it with him into the bathroom and takes a quick shower, wiping the mirror of steam so he might utilize the reflection to take a look at the healing skin over his two phaser wounds. The one across his arm he had used the regenerator on is already beginning to fade, but the one across his thigh is still inflamed and a dull green, the burn tender to the touch. What little supplies he's gathered and brought along with them he uses to tend to himself before dressing for bed in a warm sweater and loose pants.

After David turned off the holovision, they had lain in the dark, both of them silently agreeing they did not want to watch any more of the news broadcasts still proclaiming Jim as missing, and now both Spock and David as well.

"Well...there goes our cover," David mutters.

"I believe you mean to say 'anonymity'," Spock corrects softly in the darkness of their room, the only noises their quiet breathing and conversation, as well as the sounds of a city still busy in the dead of night.

"What's that mean?"

"It is the condition of being anonymous, or otherwise unknown or unrecognizable," Spock explains and David hums in silent understanding.

"You think we'll get caught now?" He finally asks after a long while, disproving Spock's theory that the child had fallen asleep.

Pausing, Spock considers the actual math of their situation, "The probability is still below an average range," he remarks, "given I have thought out every possible scenario, we have a seventy-six percent chance of success."

"Success at finding dad?" David questions.

"Indeed."

"That's kind of low, isn't it? My teacher says anything below seventy percent is considered failing..." David murmurs, his tone of voice lacking his earlier determination.

"Your father received a failing grade on the Kobayashi Maru test, and yet he still graduated from the academy," Spock murmurs, loosely folding his hands together above the sheets, his phaser tucked beneath the neighboring pillow beside him.

"Why'd he fail?"

"He did not follow the given parameters of the test and failed to experience the purpose of the exam," Spock explains, "instead, he refused to accept the scenario and created one of his own making..."

"How?" David asks and Spock cannot help but be a little surprised that Jim has not told his child of this story already.

Turning over onto his side, Spock finds David's form in the dark, "He created a nearly undetectable subroutine for the test and installed it so that it would override the program's original function."

"So he broke it?" David asks quizzically, a frown in his voice.

"No, the alterations to the program were repaired, but your father failed to understand the true reasoning behind the test in the first place."

"What was that?"

"To experience fear in the face of danger, and to learn how to rise above it and accept it. Every officer goes out into space to risk their life and are expected to cope with that possibility. One cannot know how they might react in the face of imminent death, and the Kobayashi Maru test was designed to simulate that fear response." After his explanation, Spock can hear David considering this across the room, the sheets shuffling as he rolls onto his side to face Spock through the darkness.

"Do you think he was too scared to take the test and find out how he'd react? Like...maybe he didn't wanna know?"

"I believe...he knew, even before that test. Your father is a singular human being, one who does not accept defeat before exhausting every possible outcome. He was...an exemplary ship Captain. At the time, I failed to see that, but over our year serving together, I came to accept Jim Kirk's special brand of... bravery." Spock feels a subtle wave of contentment and pride from across his bond with David and suddenly Spock wishes very much that Jim could have heard his words tonight. Did Jim even know that Spock had considered him the best Captain he had ever served under in the fleet?

"He should still be a captain..." David murmurs, "It'd have been cool, to see him as a captain. Even better if I could have come with him, on the ship."

Spock settles into silence as he considers David's wish, wondering about the extreme cases where families were allowed to join a family member serving aboard a starship. However, a part of Spock knows why Jim hadn't considered doing such a thing. He had had no prior relationship with David, no father-son rapport, and the duties of a starship captain would have taken him away from the care of his son much of the time. 

David would have never gotten to know his father so well aboard a starship, only seeing the Captain persona Jim Kirk put forward, the brave face and the stern orders. David would have grown up knowing Jim Kirk as Captain Kirk, not as the father who took him ice skating or the father who went to see his plays in school or built snowmen with him out in the yard. Not the Jim Kirk who worried about him constantly, who cherished him at any age and wished the child never to grow up. The Jim Kirk who took his son to soccer games or helped him with his science projects.

No, Spock knew, even behind the shame Jim had felt leaving Starfleet all those years ago, that Jim Kirk had known raising a son in the fleet would have diminished any relationship with the child...

Before Spock can think of how to explain this to David, the child is asleep, his soft breath coming measured and even across the room. What harm was there in letting David dream about accompanying his father into the stars? There was no telling what the future would hold for David or for any of them, so Spock rolls over onto his back and closes his eyes, trying to chase his sensations of exhaustion into sleep.

Now, as he wakes before the rising sun, Spock sits up in bed and wipes his hands down over his face, a gesture he has noted Jim doing a lot and is somewhat dismayed he has acquired. David doesn't make a sound as Spock gets up to use the facilities, nor does he wake when Spock unearths his boxed salad from a bag by the bed, opening it to eat in front of the window, pushing the shade back to view the city at early morning. It would seem four a.m. is the hour of quiet in Portland, with only a few cars passing on the street below, either revelers returning after a late night or early risers commuting to their place of employ.

Spock savagely spears a piece of lettuce and chews it mechanically, not even tasting the flavored dressing coating the leaves as he stands in the small square of street light from outside, wrestling with himself and his indecision. On one hand, he is reluctant to consult the bond for direction, wondering if it would even do him any good, but on the other hand, to not try would be folly. If there is even a small chance that he might get through to Jim, he would forever blame himself for missing that chance out of shameful fear.

So, placing his salad on the dresser beneath the holovision, Spock sinks into the wing-back upholstered chair near the window and folds his legs up beneath himself. It isn't the most comfortable position, but Spock doesn't intend to sink fully into meditation, rather he reaches out toward his bond with James, cautiously lifting the veil between himself and his mate.

At first, there is only silence, the yawning distance separating them and Jim's muted mind almost undetectable. If it wasn't for the strong link held tangible in Spock's mind, Spock could almost believe he wasn't bonded at all. But the link was there, an echo of what they used to share, now an open and empty channel with only silence so loud it's almost static coming through to the Vulcan. That is, until Spock catches a faint emotion. It's barely there at first, only a far off glimmer. Until it hits him like a speeding transport.

 _Anger, frustration, grief_. It nearly knocks Spock out of his state of concentration as the sensations come barreling down through the bond at him, twisting his insides into knots and boiling his blood to the surface of his skin, deep green and flushed. Taking a shaking breath, he almost pulls away, fear rising in him as he reads these emotions and believes them to be from T'Mal. But just as he snaps back from the feelings, like having touched his hand to a hot burner, Jim's voice comes to him solidly.

_'Spock! Please, don't!'_

_'Jim!'_ Spock's heart leaps in his side, beating rapidly as a mixture of relief, fear, and love wash over him before he can think to control it. Jim feels it too, and the anger and frustration abates slightly, though it does not dissipate completely. It's only when Spock takes a mental step back from these negative emotions that he realizes they are not directed at him, but rather a product of something Jim is experiencing. _'Where are you?'_ Spock asks urgently, not knowing how much time they'll be able to converse with one another, a headache already beginning to form in Spock's temples.

 _'We just passed through Cannon Beach about an hour ago, where are **you**?'_ Jim's mental voice sounds weak for some reason and Spock has to strain to hear it.

 _'We are paused here in Portland for the moment, have you been resting?'_ Spock inquires, doing the math in his head. If Jim had made detouring routes as he suspected he did, would that not mean he had been driving all through the night to reach the Oregon coast?

_'I don't know, probably not. But Spock, I've no idea where I'm going or what she's planning or-'_

Spock interjects, his voice raised over the sound of Jim's through their bond, _'Do you have no free will? Can you not fight back and escape?'_

 _'No- I... Spock, I can't just-... **fuck**.'_ Jim's voice fades and Spock winces as a sharp pain is transmitted to him from across their bond before he can withdraw. He reacts immediately, blocking his bond with James and slumping back against the chair as he opens his eyes. His heart is still racing along inside the cage of his ribs and his head throbs painfully as he comes back to the reality around him. Whatever T’Mal had done to end their communing, it had pained Jim enough to reach Spock, and a bubble of irrepressible anger swells inside the Vulcan. How _dare_ she touch his mate, how dare she bring him such pain that he cannot even speak to him!

Getting up out of the chair, Spock paces away from the window, sliding his hands down the planes of his cheeks until they meet together over his lips, clasped in a facsimile of a prayer as he snatches up his bag from off the floor and stomps into the bathroom to gather the few things he had left in there.

A soft sigh comes from inside the bedroom, and when Spock comes back out, David has rolled over onto his back and is rubbing his eyes sleepily as he wakes. He eyes Spock warily, seeming to note the agitation in the Vulcan, much to Spock's shame. "What's goin' on?" He mumbles tiredly, his legs slipping from the sheets as he gets up out of bed.

Snatching the phaser out from under the pillow on his bed, Spock sets it next to his bag as he drags out a pair of clean jeans and shucks his sleep pants to don them. "Get your things, we're leaving," Spock remarks flatly and to his credit, David makes for his bag by his bed and replaces his dirty clothes and various other items back inside it.

"Did you hear Dad?" He asks, but Spock notes the absence of hope in the child's voice, having asked the question so many times now without a positive answer that he now asks in a hollow tone.

"Briefly," Spock admits, bracing himself for the sudden spike in excitement and relief in the child. However, when it comes, he doesn't expect the tight arms that suddenly wrap around his middle from behind. He freezes, his sleep shirt rolled up in his hand and about to be shoved back into his overnight bag.

"Really?" David gasps and when Spock turns at the waist to regard him, moving a hand behind David's back as the child looks up at him from where he's latched onto the Vulcan, Spock notes the wide and hopeful eyes again.

"He has passed through Cannon Beach; he's at the coast. That is only an hour and a half away, but he has two and a half hours head start on us. We must leave _now,_ " he stresses and David detaches to quickly finish putting together his bag. Spock grabs the laptop bag from his side of the bed and as he slings the two bags over his shoulders, he snags the phaser off the bed and ensures the safety is on before jamming it down the back of his waistband, adjusting his jacket so it covers the weapon.

David slips his cap on and Spock remembers his own before they leave, taking to the stairs with renewed vigor as they now feel they have a straight path to follow. "Do you think we'll catch up to him before tomorrow?" David asks after they have dropped their key off at the desk and paid their bill, standing outside in the chilly morning air of the city. David pulls his hood up over his cap and Spock sinks his chin down into the confines of his jacket as they turn West and start back into the heart of the city. 

It's early enough that the foot traffic on the sidewalks is light and Spock pitches his voice low for David to hear as they scout across the street, "If we hurry and make good time, we may intercept him by mid-afternoon."

"What about that one?" David murmurs softly, nodding his chin toward an energy efficient model of vehicle parked down the street from them.

"No, it's facing that shop front, otherwise it'd be an easy enough task." Spock was somewhat dismayed to realize that David was picking out the pattern of cars Spock was efficient at breaking into. Not only that, but David was beginning to make logical suggestions for their next transport.

Leading David down a silent street, Spock glances around, hoping that Portland also sticks to a normal city scheme where the lower district ends tend to be more on the rough side. He is not disappointed as they descend into the Skidmore Fountain area of town. Being beneath the overpass, Spock already notes broken glass on the ground of several pay-to-park lots, evidence of previous thefts or vandalism. There doesn't seem to be any kind of city watch around this area and Spock finds a passable vehicle parked at the back end of a building, with no windows directly facing it.

He observes the area around them for any watching eyes before posting David at the street corner, the child pretending to read one of his books while being just in Spock's line of sight as he crouches beside the car door. The coded panel gives him little trouble and before the alarm can sound, Spock is in the car and entering his line of code into the system. The headlights flash on and David takes it as his cue to come trotting over and climb into the front passenger seat beside Spock.

"A part of me wishes you would forget the entirety of this week some day, so that you might not take these bad habits to heart," Spock remarks as they pull out onto the street soundlessly, the tires whispering on the cobblestone street.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna make enough money when I grow up that I won't need to steal cars, Spock," David comments, receiving a long look from Spock for his words, to which he only grins back at. "I'm going to be in Starfleet!"

"Then you had better not have a criminal record when you apply. You might not have the same strings to pull as your father did," Spock mumbles, inwardly wincing when David turns round, questioning eyes on the Vulcan.

"Dad has a criminal record!?"

 _Bath'paik..._ Spock briefly closes his eyes with regret, beginning to realize that perhaps divulging everything about himself and James is not logical or sound considering David's impressionable age.

"What did he do?" David asks, curiosity burning through him and through the familiar bond Spock attempts to dampen so he might focus on driving more acutely.

"I do not know the specifics, but perhaps that is a question you ought not ask your father," Spock suggests softly, turning them toward Highway 26 and the Oregon coast.

"Would he get mad?"

"I am uncertain, though I do not think he would enjoy telling you the specifics," Spock clarifies.

They are only a half hour into their drive out of the city when David pipes up, "I'm hungry, can we get some food real fast? Like, a drive-thru or something?"

"Quickly," Spock agrees, and they take the nearest exit off the highway in search of sustenance.

 

Fog swirls around waving ferns and dense underbrush clustered along the side of the coastal highway Spock takes to reach the western edge of the state. The bond is quiet in the back of his mind, buried under a layer of scrutiny and mistrust that he cannot help experiencing. Other emotions bubble up, unbidden and unwelcome, to the surface of his thoughts every so often; emotions laced with pain and regret. How could something so rare and so perfect, his bond with James, be such a source of anguish now? It was a hard truth to swallow, one he still hasn’t managed to control or meditate on properly yet.

Turning his head, Spock casts his eyes toward David as the child leans listlessly against the window frame of the passenger door. He hadn't moved from this pose since they had left Portland, his blue eyes wandering with disinterest, lapsing back into the melancholy that had become common days ago.

Days, it was hard to make that distinction, that it had been days now since he had seen Jim, since he had been able to openly commune with his mate through their bond.

Tearing his eyes away from David, Spock purses his lips into firm, hard lines of disapproval. What would Sarek say now? Would he take the opportunity to voice his disappointment in Spock's own deteriorating rate of control, or would he be able to sympathize? Spock wasn't sure any longer…

Sarek. In the haste to retrieve his mate, Spock had spared no thought for his Father and his plight. Where was Sarek now? Had he been detained by Starfleet officials? Deported for the colony until things blew over? A part of Spock attempted to experience shame for neglecting to at least reach out to his father, even if only to ascertain if he was well. But shame did not make a good mix with the other emotions Spock was fighting to suppress, so he let it pass, choosing to distract himself instead with the view outside the windshield as the fog waxed and waned like billowing smoke.

The town just off the highway which they drove into was small, it might even be called quaint. It was definitely a coastal town; nearly every building had driftwood siding, aside from the occasional modern abomination encroaching on traditional homesteads. There were few two-story buildings, but most homes were more like cottages with little white fences and crawling ivy. Mailboxes lined a two-laned street that cut through the heart of town, and they passed an inn, one of the few two-story buildings constructed in a colonial style with white pillars and blue shutters. Candles illuminated every window and gave it a feeling of peace and simplicity, a sensation Spock immersed himself in desperately.

"Where are we?" David inquires softly, lifting his head to actually look properly out the car windows as they pass a small home sporting a sign offering beach bike and surfboard rentals.

"The sign posted said, 'Cannon Beach'." Spock informs him, his hands sliding down the steering wheel of the vehicle to rest more comfortably as David's voice takes a bit of the edge off his anxiety. He knows that a large part of his feeling of isolation is due to his two bonds being deliberately suppressed, but it is growing increasingly harder not to reach out toward David in some manner, to cast a mental open palm toward the young mind he has grown accustomed to. But if it meant protecting David from whatever force of terror that had attempted to reach him through his bond with James, Spock would keep his bond with David forever dim.

"Why's it called that? Do they have cannons?" David asks, rubbing his eyes, the action causing a little life and brightness to return to them as he sits up straighter and peers over the dashboard to the road they are traveling on.

"I am uncertain, though it would be a logical name for a beach with such antiquated weaponry." Spock comments. They pass more shops and parking areas, as well as a lookout point, and David presses his fingers against his window and reads aloud the name of each shop.

" _'The Landing'_ , _'Coastal Yarns'_..." He lets out a little gasp of pleasure, a sound Spock hasn’t heard in a long while and which almost startles him at hearing it, "Spock, there's a candy shop." He murmurs, and as Spock glances around, they indeed pass a little white and pink striped shop named _Bruce's Candy Kitchen_.

Impulses tell Spock to keep driving, to continue in the role of responsibility and logic that dictate they continue on, lest they fall even farther behind. But seeing the look of guilt-riddled longing on David's face has him slowing the car down and pulling into an almost empty free-to-park spot. David bites his lip, glancing over and murmuring, "But what about Dad?"

"He'll have to stop as well, eventually, for he must eat and use the restroom just as frequently as you or I," he hypothesized, watching David's expression of helpless guilt turn to gradual acceptance.

Spock is torn, because a part of him, a very real and integral part, wishes to continue the chase; to find and save James from the danger he's gotten himself into. But on the other hand... there is David. It was easier to accept in his mind that he loved David, easier to accept his affection for the child than it was to accept his feelings of a softer nature for anyone else. Children were easy to spawn emotion for, they were like catalysts, turning your heart with every smile and every peal of laughter. When David grasps the straps of his backpack and leaps out of the transport, Spock knows he has made a 'good call', as Jim would have dubbed it.

If James were here, if their positions were reversed, would he not want to look after the mental health and well-being of his own child as well? Getting out of the car, Spock straightens up and immediately shivers as icy cold fingers of wind, carrying a light, salty mist, sweep his hair back off his forehead. 

As he dons his jacket and zips it all the way up to his chin, Spock can’t help but acknowledge his fear once more. Not only is he fearful for James, but for himself and David.What will they find once they catch up to the missing member of their little family? As much as Spock knows it is unwise to delay too long, he gives in to distractions far more easily than he would have ever allowed himself to in the past. It is as if he is cringing away from the numbers. How many times had James asked him to make estimates of probability? How many times had Spock cited figures and numbers and seen Jim's face fall or his lips press together in disappointment and frustration? With every passing moment, Spock can’t help but somberly calculate their decreased rate of success in his mind.

Crossing the street, Spock presses his hands into his pockets to keep them warm and follows David into the candy shop. The hour is still early and the store is virtually deserted, and as they enter Spock is hit with a wave of sweet smells and the scents of candy floss. The shelves are painted a cheery pink and overflow with all sorts of confections of differing colors, sizes and shapes. Massive lollies on sticks sit upright in buckets and little wrapped candies, both soft and hard types, fill baskets lining the walls. David, normally one to be off like a phaser shot in a store such as this, surprises Spock by lingering at his side, waves of uncertainty cascading off him in droves. It takes Spock engaging him in the moment to break through the shell of distracted silence around the child and the Vulcan picks up a single sweet from a basket and eyed it, handing it to David who looked curiously on.

"It's salt-water taffy," David explains, giving the wrapper a sniff and humming, "this one's popcorn I think."

"Interesting," Spock murmurs, only for them both to be startled by a loud, cheery exclamation from the counter across the store.

"Hey, welcome to Bruce's! Can I help you two find anything?" A young man in a black apron and a backward facing ball-cap greets them while leaning against the top of the counter by the till.

Both Spock and David glance at one another before David quips, "Browsing." Spock purses his lips to keep a smirk at bay, because it is strange hearing such a word from David's growing vocabulary. Their attendant nods sagely, reaching up to slide a hand down the line of his jaw over the patchy beard there, the gesture reminding Spock of James once again, causing his eyes to drop away, searching for more distractions.

They wander around the entire perimeter of the shop with a little paper sack which David drops a few things into here and there and Spock lets the child select what he wants until the look of guilt and unhappiness finally disappears off David's face. Stepping back out into the cold again isn’t enjoyable for either of them, but the wind and mist don’t manage to crumble the small satisfied smile still on David's lips as he reaches up like old times and crumples Spock's sleeve in his hand as they cross the street back toward their car.

With David's paper white and pink striped sack in his lap, they settle back into the car, continuing on down the main road and out of town. The road out of Cannon Beach was more narrow and every so often lined with big, tall fir trees with trunks so numerous one could not see past them. Houses and shops gave way to nature and glimpses of the ocean as they climbed higher out of the lower sea levels and into the cliffs. The road grew windy and twisted around cliff-faces with little waterfalls dripping down their jagged, mossy faces.

The fog loomed thick and heavy like a dream world over the ocean in the distance, obscuring everything up to a few feet off the shoreline below and as Spock drives them up high to a lookout point, they stop a moment to stare in shock and awe at the pure whiteness. The fog was like a live thing, swirling on the wind and moving before one's face like a lover's touch. David gets out to hang his arms over the railing around the lookout point and Spock can’t help but grasp the back of his jacket, displaying a parent's fear of their child falling.

"We definitely need to bring Dad here with us next time..." David decides aloud, "like, the next time we go on vacation or something."

"Do you believe he would enjoy the view?" Spock inquires, watching David's expression scrunch into one of consideration.

"No, probably not. Dad likes to see stuff far out, you know? He'd hate the fog." David remarks with a slight grin, the expression fading fast. "But it's quiet up here..."

Indeed, it _is_ quiet, aside from the occasional passing car behind them, there is only the sound of the wind, the rolling waves, and the occasional call of a seagull. If it weren't so icy cold up here, Spock would consider it a positive spot for meditation. If only it were more private.

"Come, we have only eleven hours, thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds of daylight left for today. We must make the most of it in travel time." Spock gives into logic and urges David back into the vehicle and the two of them lapse back into tense silence broken by the occasional offering of a sweet from David.

"You've gotta try this one, you'd like it, promise," David tries to assure him, holding out a piece of candy toward him from across the center console.

With a suspicious glance at the confection, he accepts it in his palm and rolls it around, looking for some form of identification, but there is none. "Just try it," David urges impatiently, watching with rapt attention as Spock presses it to his tongue. A cautious lick of the sweet renders no flavor, however, so Spock pops the rest past his lips and awaits some kind of change. What he gets is subtle and light, sweet and somewhat floral. He chews it and the flavor intensifies, almost to a point where he wishes to be rid of it and his expression of distaste must show enough that David laughs.

"You don't like it?"

"What is it?" Spock asks, having to stoop to dropping the half-chewed piece out of his mouth and back into his hand. He rolls the window down a bit and forces the offending thing out into the mist.

"A Jelly Bean! Aw, you wasted it...it was pear flavored." Grinning, David pops another little candy into his mouth and chews enthusiastically.

"The scent of the flavor has traveled up into my sinuses...how long will I have to smell it?" Spock asks, somewhat horrified.

"Just have some water, it should go away. Here, try this one."

Subjecting himself to strong scented and flavorful candies is a small sacrifice to make when with every new comment Spock makes while consuming the confections, he brings a smile or a laugh out of David. It is enough of a distraction for them both that the miles pass at a steady rate and Spock keeps on the road, hoping and believing that they are following the right path that will lead them to Jim; and hoping that whatever possible forces of fate or religion he does not ascribe to might hear him and grant them the ever elusive luck Jim always credits in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	17. Wild Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Jim arrive in the small town of Coos Bay after a long drive down the coast of Oregon, losing their trail on Jim, which spurrs both boys into frustration and worry. Will they find Jim, or will the chase continue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there stranger, yes I'm functioning adequately! I know it's been a while, but in my absense I have spun ourselves another chapter! I want to thank those of you who have stuck around from the beginning, I don't think I would have held onto this much inspiration without your lovely comments and wonderful feedback. I've made some good friends out of this fic and I intend to keep them. You all know who you are... To those of you just discovering this series, welcome! I hope you buckle in for the ride. 
> 
> I had a lot of trouble getting this one out of me to be honest, it holds some discriptions of places very near and dear to me and so all the minor details, they are there for a reason as I attempt ot capture them from memory down to paper (hard drive?). **I WILL warn that there is some minor graphic detail in this fic, between paragraphs beginning with the phrase, _'"Why did you not visit a hospital?"'_ to then end of the paragraph beginning with, _'They keep conversation to a minimum...'_. You have been forewarned!**
> 
> I did have some musical inspiration for this chapter and the first song is [_'Smokestacks'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPY6Pxvl9UI) by **LAYLA**. The second song you might want to check out is [_'Breathe'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQVop3-OOXc) by **Fleurie**. I hope you like how they fit to this chapter and are just as excited as me to get into this new arc of my fic. 
> 
> As always, I want to thank my friend and editor [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate) for her undying devotion and help in my efforts at writing and editing. She is a God-send. 
> 
> Now, as always, enjoy the fruits of our labor. =]

The coastal byway out of Cannon beach is so serpentine that David falls ill a half hour into their jaunt south down the Oregon coastline, and Spock slows the vehicle, gentling each sharp turn as much as he can while driving the compact sedan. Eventually the child caves under the strain and they find a rest stop an hour out of Rockaway Beach. Spock waits outside the bathrooms for David, holding the boy's coat for him and trying to ignore the sounds of retching echoing inside the cavernous cement brick building. The rest stop seems deserted save for a few long distance freighter trucks paused for a rest in wide parking zones. The rushing noise of traffic passing by on the other side of a thin tree line covers any sounds of nature Spock might happen to pick up and the wind from cars sweeping by at high speeds throws his hair to and fro. His thoughts are hardly encompassed by such trivial things, but always bending back toward calculations and probabilities. How far ahead was Jim now?

"Sorry…," David's croaking voice levers Spock out of his internal struggles, and when he turns to regard the child he notes the very distinct shade of sickly green tinting David's round face. A sweaty hand reaches up to take the coat out of Spock's hand but he turns instead to drape the warm garment around David's shoulders.

"You do not need to apologize to me," Spock reassures him, "I am told that motion sickness is a very common side effect of long distance travels in motorized vehicles. Are you well enough to continue?"

"Yeah, I don't want to hold us up any longer...let's go, Spock." David mutters weakly, taking a shaky step off the sidewalk toward their transport. Spock rounds the car to open the door for him, making sure he is settled before closing it and approaching the driver's side.

"I have procured a sack in case you find yourself ill again." Motioning toward a folded paper bag on the dashboard, he leaves it at that as David curls in on himself, dragging his legs up onto the seat and leaning his head against the cool glass of his window.

It seemed that once the child found peace in rest, the motions of the vehicle did not disturb him and so Spock increases his speed, anxious to shorten the distance between himself and James. With the car quiet save for the sounds of travel and the soft, sniffling breathes of David in the passenger seat though, Spock is left deep in thought once again.

The scenery seemed rather limited along route 101, the road changing between two and four lanes, passing through tiny coastal towns with barely a handful of buildings to mark them as such. He passes dilapidated convenience stores boasting purchasable items far outdated to these modern times. Rundown homes or boarded up shacks dot the road here and there, some having given up the fight with mother nature and succumbed to her crawling vines and creeping ivy. Each town's estimated population seems to diminish as they proceed, an hour passing before they come into the town of Lincoln City.

Time passes slowly and Spock tries not to be aware of it, distracting himself with observances of the communities they are passing through. He counts how many commercial grocery chains he sees in each town, lowering his modernization scores for each town he passes through that lack a Buy-N-Save or an Organic Grocers.

David wakes up ten minutes out of Waldport, rubbing his eyes and shifting up from under his jacket which he had been using as a blanket. "Where are we?" He asks immediately, his only persevering interest.

"Approximately an hour away from Reedsport." Spock had seen the signs for the next coastal town, having taken that moment to cautiously feel out his bond with James, only to be met with silence.

"See anything interesting?" David mumbles, folding his arms around his updrawn knees and propping his chin on them, listlessly staring out the window.

"Only a worrying amount of wood carved creatures for sale in nearly every town," Spock remarks, for it seemed every coastal town had a whimsical carpenter. 

David grunts but otherwise does not comment, and when Spock glances at him, he notices the child's eyes have closed once more. He believes him to be asleep until David's voice pierces the silence of the vehicle cabin. "What if this has all been some wild chase for nothing... what do we do then, Spock?"

It is not a point Spock hasn’t already considered and he knows David will not like the options he has come up with. "If we cannot find your father we return to San Francisco." He can hear David's sudden intake of breath, a precursor to a wild rebuttal that he calmly cuts off by continuing, "we will go into hiding while I seek out my father. With his aid perhaps we would be able to locate your father. Do you forget that we _too_ have been pursued in this?"

David's teeth click as he snaps his mouth shut and Spock can see the muscles in his jaw grinding as he burns under the weight of this logic. It seemed to be common characteristic between him and his father James; both of them felt personally aggrieved by the sound statement of logic at times. "So, in other words, we just give up," he mutters, voice flat and devoid of the very palpable irritation Spock can feel from him, even through their muted bond.

"I would never cease looking for James. However, if given a choice between continuing on in this manner or settling you somewhere safe, I would have to accept the latter option." He has to raise his hand to stop David's avid response from bubbling out of the child's mouth this time before explaining, "not because I would not want you along to help me find him, but because I can go much longer than you without rest and without food. If I were alone, I could cover an estimated two-hundred miles more before stopping to rest."

Silence fills the vehicle, and Spock's brows furrow a fraction. He glances over at David only to find the child's face turned away from him, not visible in the reflection of the window glass. Has he been in error to make these remarks? Thinking back through his words, he tries to match them with the emotion of hurt and frustration he is gathering from David. A shadowy memory of Jim's voice passes through his ears in that moment, a soft murmur, _'Be gentle with him...he's still a child.'_.

Spock's lips thin into a firm line as he realizes his mistake too late, wondering if an apology would reverse the effects of his emotionless words. He flounders, attempting to suss out the correct social protocol when inadvertently causing a child to believe you wished them gone. "I have...appreciated your companionship, however," he murmurs, voice halting in the quiet interior of the car. "I made you a promise, David...that I would not leave you."

A voice, cracked by unshed tears, whispers from the passenger seat, "I know."

Mind racing to find a solution, Spock lands on an old fail-safe he had relied heavily on when David had been younger. What would James do? He envisions his mate; replaces himself with the human father, his right hand crimping tight around the steering wheel before releasing and hesitating in the air between himself and the child. Humans were tactile, they received comfort by touch and by words, but in this case, were words not enough?

Unsure fingers sift and settle through David's hair along the back of the boy's head, and when the gesture is not refused and the child does not pull away, Spock glances his way and is immediately struck by David's soft smile. Watery blue eyes just like Jim's offer up a familiar forgiveness and Spock drops his hand back into his lap, the oppressive silence evolving into a content and merciful quiet as Spock's thoughts calm.

It is as though he has just passed a test of some kind; his bond with David reassured under the protective layer of defense Spock has lain over it, dividing the majority of himself from the boy. He may not be as good a father as James, but it seems he is learning.

 

"I've never been dune buggying." David's quiet voice draws Spock's eyes from the windshield for the first time in nearly two hours, his gaze shifting past the child out the side window and toward the view of the sandy dunes in the distance, dotted with ATVs and people.

"Actually, Dad and I never really took vacations...he was always busy working," David adds, but the emotions in his voice are difficult to decipher, so Spock turns his eyes away.

"I believe your father has earned himself some much needed time off." Neither of them adds to Spock's remark and both of them choose instead to observe the deep blue bay reflecting the fading light of the day, choked out by the grey clouds moving in from the coast.

Five minutes out of North Bend they traverse a tall, old cantilever bridge aged to a patina of dull green, it's tallest spires pointing up into the high band of fog overhanging the bay. It bears some resemblance to the Golden Gate Bridge with its stone trusses. The bridge stretches across the bay, and as they cross it, buffeted by the strong gusts of wind over the water, David shuffles in his seat, sitting up and peering out his window across the waves lapping at sandy shores. Desolate, swampy marsh land greets them on the other side, and tall, old pine trees swallow them up before the wide arch welcoming them to the town of North Bend.

Spock is immediately struck by the age of this town, the civilian dwellings built in old, fairytale-like style, with peaked roofs and stucco and brick faces. The lawns are unkempt and brown and the sidewalks are cracked and uneven to either side of the four lane highway that cuts through the center of the township. It isn't quite a city, but there is evidence here and there of a previously flourishing metropolis, cut down before it could fully blossom economically.

Homes give way to run down businesses and auto-shops. Newer buildings seem oddly transplanted amongst the old and display desperate advertisements in their windows in an attempt to drum up business in the rather deserted town. There are very few people out wandering around and Spock glances at the time, mentally comparing the activity to that of San Francisco during the same hour. The streets were never empty back home, not at seven o'clock.

The tallest building to be seen is one called the Tioga and Spock assumes it to be an old hotel, for no other signs about the establishment advertise it otherwise. An old movie theater decorated in an Egyptian theme is on their right as they drive through the short, five block stretch of downtown. Antique shops carrying wares of dubious age populate the business spaces alongside quaint toy shops and recycled clothing stores. A tourist hub is the most modern building in the area, sitting squarely before the train tracks running parallel to the docks and the bay. Small sailboats and an old tug boat bob in the marina, their sails rolled up tight for the evening.

The road widens to two lanes once more as they leave the downtown area behind them, the industrial plots welcoming them with scents of cut cedar wood and showing them sights of stacked logs piled higher than three men. Taking a bend in the road, the largest business in town greets them to the left with a flashing sign; _'The Mill Casino & Hotel'_. The parking lot is full, even at this hour, and Spock notices David staring dully at the flashing lights ringing the fake circular saw depicted on their sign, the glow reflected on his pale face.

"Do you think Dad stopped there?" He asks Spock softly as they pass on through the rest of town.

"I am uncertain, though I do not sense his presence there." Spock changes lanes, and just as David mentions timidly that he is hungry, he turns into a Fred Meyer's parking lot. "Let us keep our visit short, we'll eat in the car and keep going, agreed?" Spock asks, releasing his safety belt as David nods curtly in his direction. They step out of the car together and are immediately hit by the wind which whips their hair aside and tugs at their clothes. Spock suppresses a violent shiver and shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets as they cross the lot to the grocery store. It isn't much warmer inside as they stop in the deli for David to pick out a sandwich. Spock selects a vegetarian option and manages to persuade David to choose a bottle of water instead of a sugary beverage.

As they're standing in line to purchase their food, Spock cautiously casts his line out toward his bond with Jim, knowing he is desperate and knowing that if the professor where to take hold of him mentally now, there would be nothing he could do to stop it. Rather than being met with the customary silence and ambivalence he's grown piteously used to, however, Spock is able to gain an impression. He stops halfway through buying their dinners, his credit chip still inserted into the payment slot of the machine, the monitoring clerk eyeing him from his post a few paces away.

Distantly, he hears David's voice calling his name, or rather calling out his chosen alias, but no matter how the line behind them is piling up, he cannot tear himself away from analyzing this new feeling. This new...awareness. It is as if Jim is simply standing beside them, as sensible as ever, his presence a constant Spock had grown used to feeling. But when Spock manages to pry his eyes away from the display screen, Jim isn't at his side but an old woman carrying two heavy containers of filtered water in each hand, who is casting him a concerned and confused look. He doesn't know what expression must be showing through his control, but perhaps her confusion stems instead from her astonishment over seeing a Vulcan in such a tiny town, undeniable with his hat uncharacteristically forgotten on the dashboard of their transport.

 

"Hey!!" David's shrill voice snaps Spock around to looking at the child beside him. David's fist is twisted in the sleeve of his coat after having yanked it savagely in an attempt to gain the Vulcan's attention. Spock blinks, lowering his hand and sliding the credit chip back into his pocket. David snatches the small receipt out of the printer and gathers up their food, all the while glaring suspiciously up at Spock, his blue eyes brimming with excitement and questions.

They are barely out into the parking lot again when David fires off his first one. "What was that back there? Did you feel him? Feel Dad?"

"I-..." Sliding into the driver's seat of their stolen vehicle, Spock sits there a moment, gathering himself. He is still getting the same impression that Jim is along with them, though when he turns his head to look, there isn't even a shadow. "I am...uncertain."

"Well, either you do or you don't, so don't you?" David asks impatiently and Spock is distantly aware that the child must have been thinking a lot about what little Spock had explained to him of his and James' bond. "Is he in this town? If he is, we gotta get out of here, _find him!_ "

"David-," Spock begins, only to be silenced as the child continues in his old manner of animated haste; just like his father.

"He could be stopped somewhere, but he could leave again! C'mon Spock, lets go!" David frantically pushes at Spock's arm, urging him to haste with his strong human will.

Grasping the child's wrist, Spock stills David's efforts at goading him into action, his grip surprising the boy into silence. "I need you...to be quiet for a moment, do you understand?" Spock asks solemnly, desperately trying to freeze out his own feelings of anxiousness and the sound of his frantically beating heart.

Licking his lips, David nods, taking his hand back as Spock releases it and watching with an intensity Spock can feel, like insects crawling up and down his limbs. Closing his eyes, Spock attempts to chase that impression of Jim, that sense of his mate along their bond, hoping he is not being baited. Instead, he gets a fleeting flash of an image. He memorizes what he can of it before it fades from his mind's eye. Jim's mind seems to strengthen across their bond, almost like he has risen from deep slumber, and Spock lets it pull through his mind like a magnet, drawing his senses to the East. How far?

Not far. Spock starts the car with a verbal command and opens his eyes, a strong feeling of being grounded shaping his drifting thoughts into a pointed arrow. He hadn’t felt this determination and single-minded precision for a while now, the separation from his mate has been slowly scattering his sense of self to the wind on this coast line.

"Well?" David asks apprehensively from the passenger seat.

"He isn't far away, and it seems he's stopped travelling for now." _Or rather, he's stopped running. But why? What has changed?_ In the back of his mind, Starfleet training and instinct tells him to be cautious still. Even if they reach Jim tonight, there is no telling what state he'll be in, or rather, what has caused him to appear, seemingly like a white flag of surrender. If the Professor is still at large, this could very well be a trap, though, what she would gain out of eradicating Jim's bondmate and child elludes Spock at present. Regardless, he has to doubt her faculties, for surely she is no longer fully in control of herself or her emotions. The state of her mind could very well be dangerous.

Their food falls forgotten to the floor of the vehicle as David leans back into his seat and scrambles for his seatbelt while Spock backs swiftly out of their parking space and gets back onto the main thoroughfare. There is a sudden charge to the atmosphere in the car and Spock endeavors to focus beyond David's unbridled excitement and hope, emotions that serve to churn within him like a sickness. He presses the town speed limits, but they barely get a half mile down the road before Spock's sense of Jim wanes. He pulls over immediately, pulling the car in an old bank parking lot and focusing on the bond once more, furiously searching Jim out and begging him not to do this again, not to pull away.

 _'Jim, please! Where are you? Tell me, give me direction,'_ he begs across their connection. But it is as if he is speaking to an empty room, and frustrated, he gets out of the vehicle and stalks across the empty lot, leaving David behind in the car with the driver's side door still hanging open and beeping at him to return.

Sliding his hands back through his hair, Spock clasps his fingers together at the back of his skull and casts his senses outward again and again, hoping beyond all illogical hope that he'll receive another impression again. Even just for a moment, even a second would be enough. He walks all the way out to the edge of the bank property line where it abuts an ivy covered hillside below a house hidden back in the trees. A crude wooden fence barricades his path and Spock leans over it, grasping the short top of a post in one hand and the edge of a rung in the other. The wind seeks to chill him to the bone but he is already numb and no longer feels it, the rattling of his breath in his ears overlaying all other sound as he turns his focus inward again.

He keenly scrutinizes the fleeting image he had gained from Jim before they had lost their awareness of one another again, squeezing his eyes shut and seeing two white pillars and a front door. The door is in the french style with two doors composing one entrance, built out of white oak with murky glass windows set in their centers. Two big ceramic pots filled with scraggly ferns and weakly blooming plants sit like sentinels at either side of the doors. At his feet are moss-covered grey cobble stones, and Spock tries to think of where he might have seen this place, but he does not know it, no matter how hard he searches his memories of the homes they had passed on the street earlier.

Gritting his teeth, Spock opens his eyes and blinks several times, finding them watering from the wind. When he straightens up, his hands creak painfully and glancing down, he notices two crumbled holes in the wood of the fence where his hands have crushed the material to dust in his frustration. Sickened by his lack of control, Spock recites several parables of Surak in his head before returning to the car. The sense of despair is so heavy in the air car that Spock feels as if he is immersed in a vat of thick soup as he sits in the driver's seat once again and shuts the door. 

David doesn't look at him, instead he is staring wide-eyed out the front window, his hands encircling a bottle of water with a strangle hold that bows the plastic.

"He's gone again, isn't he...?" David asks softly, his voice shaky with unshed tears he promised never to let fall and his anger still palpable.

Spock flinches but does not reply, bracing his elbow against the lip of his side window and brushing his fingers over his lips and chin, another habit of Jim's. "I saw something, before my sense of him failed...if we can find what I saw, perhaps it will lead us to him."

They drive well past sundown and into the dark, but every time they reach the town limits, Spock senses it would be a mistake to leave, so they comb back over the small town, driving up and down neighborhood drives and looking at every house. But nothing is matching the image in Spock's mind and David questions more than once if he had gotten a good look at that front door, having described it to David as best he could. It is nearly ten o'clock at night when Spock turns onto a little access road on the far side of an overpass bridging the swampy bay where it turns inland. The water here is thicker and the tide is tricky, a catching slough with a strong undertow that weaves like a snake alongside a sharply curving road along the outskirts of farm land. Dark lumps out in the fields to their left depict cows in slumber, the slough to their right and the narrow road before them are unlit and plagued by potholes.

"All the houses out here are far back off the road; we can't see them Spock. How do we know we aren't driving right past it?" David complains softly as they weave along the road, following each switch back and passing dilapidated barns and charged wire fences. Gravel driveways stretch up into the tree covered hills every few acres and Spock tries to reach out to Jim once more along their bond. His hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, and he wonders idly in the back of his mind if this is where they give up, if this is where he takes David home and tirelessly pursues this impossible search on his own. He banishes that worry to the far recesses of his mind and focuses instead on memories of his mate.

Something pulls him subconsciously to turn off the road, to squeeze between two wooden posts and start up a long, steep gravel driveway with fields of cows to either side of them, a metal barn painted red and peeling marking the road. Peering through the dark illuminated only by their headlights, Spock cannot see a house at all as the road turns sharply up ahead. They pass an unkempt orchard, fruit trees left untended with branches hanging out over the road, their sharp points scraping the roof of the air car.

At the bend in the road, Spock tips his head to look up yet another steep road that forks, one road paved and leading up, the other gravel and slanting down toward a darkened building in the trees. He chooses the higher access road and passes along tall rows of brick retaining walls holding the hillside back, the ground terraced several feet up.

At the top of the hill the ground levels out and what stands before them has Spock stopping the car and turning it off. David gasps beside him as they both note the front door of this grand house. It is exactly as Spock had described, with dark blue trim and the two flower pots and pillars. 

The house itself is all one level and sprawls over the top of the hill, a three car garage directly before them and the remainder of the house to their right. Details are easy to make out given that the landscaping is lit with solar lamps, casting plants and trees into shadowy relief against the panels of the house. Windows are lit and emanate an inviting orange and yellow glow out toward them. Spock and David both step out into the freezing night air as if entranced by magic and Spock slowly rounds the front of their car.

David glances between the Vulcan and the house and mutters, "Well what are we waiting for, let's go see!" He takes a rapid step, about to run up to the front of the house but Spock snags him by the sleeve and yanks him back and into his side, grasping David by the shoulder to keep him in place.

"Hold on, David, we don't know if this is the right house-"

"But it's just like you said, the front and everything! Of course it's the right house!" David argues.

"But whether James is inside or not, we do not know, and to go rushing up to a stranger's house-"

"Then we apologize and we leave! C'mon, Spock...this is the only lead we have."

David makes a valid point, and though the hour is late, Spock has to admit that he is at a desperate enough level that rudeness and common sense are the last things on his list to consider now. So they walk together up to the front of the house. Their steps resonate against the cobblestones, damp from an earlier drizzle while crickets sing in the bushes around them.

They find a bell switch next to the door and Spock hears it toll softly from inside the house. David peers in through the clouded door windows at his side. "Whoa, it's really nice in there..."

Pulling David back from the windows, Spock takes a single step in front of the child, shielding him as he sees a figure move from beyond the opaque window. Someone is sitting down further inside and their head turns, but Spock cannot make out any details past shapes. His heart beats fast in his side as his fingers wrap around the curved front door handle, testing it. It catches for a moment, but then clicks open and Spock sucks in a deep breath as he lets the door whisper open on well oiled hinges. Beyond the foyer there is a family room lit by recessed lighting high up in the ceiling and what he sees makes his breath seize in his lungs, stuttering past parted lips. Jim’s face is turned toward them in profile, but he doesn’t get up or make any other movement. That is, until David tears soundlessly across the room and around the back of the long sectional sofa, flinging his arms out wide and wrapping them around his father’s form, pressing his small face into the crook of Jim’s neck. 

“Dad!” He gasps, his emotions welling up like the rushing tides across his bond with Spock and shaking the Vulcan to his core, overwhelmed with relief and grief alike. It turns Spock’s knees to mush and he staggers into the house, carelessly leaving the door open behind him as he rounds the sofa and gets his first real look at his mate since the last morning he had seen him...since before the destruction in the industrial quarter at Jim’s lab. 

“James…” he breathes his mate’s name. Jim, who seems as if just awoken out of a dream, his arms hesitantly wrapping around his son who is sprawled half across his lap clinging to him like a life preserver. Dropping to his knees before his bondmate, Spock touches Jim’s knee, causing him to slowly look up. Oddly enough, Spock cannot feel Jim across their bond and so he seeks it out, his brows furrowing in worry as Jim continues to stare blankly at him. Is it shock? 

_’Ashaya, can you hear us?’_

Reaching up, Spock's fingers brush the skin of Jim's face, circling the curve of his lover's cheek, shocked into drawing back when Jim sucks in a sharp and ragged breath that even moves David into leaning back and looking at him.

"Dad?" David calls again, this time with worry infusing his voice, turning it into a trembling murmur.

Jim's eyes slam shut, no longer open and unblinking but watering and opening slowly, but this time focused. His gaze shifts quickly between Spock and David with surprise, as if seeing them for the first time and Spock purses his lips, his level of worry rising until Jim croaks:

"Spock...David? You-...what are you-?" Shaking his head, Jim presses a thumb into his temple.

But Spock can sense him now, strongly in fact, across their bond, and with it...he senses a long suffering ache. "James, are you well?" He questions softly, rising up off his knees and perching on the edge of the sofa next to his mate, who sags forward over his knees with David hovering directly in front of him.

Jim looks up once more, turning his head to gaze at Spock and the Vulcan notes relief flooding into his eyes as they share a moment of silent communion. Spock's fingers brush the roughened, bearded cheek of his mate again.

"How did you find me?" James asks, his voice dragging with exhaustion even as his body sags and he slumps to lean his shoulder into Spock, who loops his arm around behind his mate for support.

"We chased you all the way from San Francisco!" David interjects, frustration coloring his words, "if you'd just told Spock where you were going-"

"I couldn't..." Jim shakes his head slowly, his eyes slipping closed again as he leans his head down against Spock's shoulder, more and more of his weight coming to rest on Spock as he sags against him.

"Where is the Professor?" Spock asks softly, warily glancing around them, wondering if she might make an appearance, even though he does not sense another presence in the house.

"Gone...she's gone, Spock. Died in the warehouse with almost everybody else. God, Spock, it was so-" Jim shakes his head, face contorting in agony both physical and emotional as Spock feels it taint their bond. "I don't know how I was the only one who got out of there but, here I am and I...Spock, I don't know what I'm-...where I'm-..." Jim's words tumble over each other, fading out as he shakes his head in a constant state of denial.

"Hush, Ashaya...you are injured, we'll speak of this later." A cold draft sweeps in through the open front door as Spock speaks and he asks David to go shut it as he gets to his feet, carefully supporting Jim's weight with his hands as he helps his mate off the sofa and into his arms. There must be somewhere he can lay Jim out flat and so he goes in search of a bedroom, finding one down a long hallway off the main foyer after opening two doors; one leading to a home office, the other a half bath with a toilet and sink.

There is a large, four poster bed in the center of the bedroom and Spock sets Jim upon it, sweeping his mate's legs up to lay across the mattress and easing James' head onto the decorative pillows. There is blood on Jim's shirt, dried and darkened with age, and Spock sends David into an adjoining bathroom in search of scissors and a first aid kit. When the child takes too long, Spock joins him, rifling through cabinets and drawers until they hear a weak voice from the other room:

"In the closet..."

How Jim is aware of where the kit is, Spock doesn't know, but they find it just inside the door of a walk-in closet and return with it in hand. Spock pulls out a pair of scissors from the kit and begins cutting the shirt free of Jim's body as David climbs up onto the other side of the bed, perched on his knees and reluctant to leave his father's side, especially once Spock's actions reveal the shreds of another shirt wrapped tightly around Jim's middle.

"Why did you not visit a hospital?" Spock asks, his tone clipped, trying to hide his emotions, his brows deeply furrowed and jaw tight with tension. However, when he cuts the ragged remains of the shirt off, what he sees beneath nearly makes him retch. Spock turns his head aside, hiding his loss of control from both his mate and David as his features reflect pain and sympathy. The ragged stitches that close the wound over Jim's side are horrific, to say the least, and covered in dried gore.

"Holy _shit_ , Dad!" David squawks, covering his mouth with his hands, eyes wide.

"That bad, hm?" Jim rasps, trying to lift his heavy head off the pillows to get a look at himself but unable to manage the task.

Steeling himself, Spock bites down on his bottom lip and discards the scissors in favor of ripping open a packet of disinfected wipes, hoping to clean some of the blood off to ascertain the condition of such a barbaric medical practice. It was nearly medieval to suture with thread and needle these days; he had personally only read about it in history books.

Spock breathes through his mouth rather than his nose, and cannot help but wince when Jim hisses in pain at the touch of the cool disinfectant on his wound.

"What happened to you, Dad? Was it a phaser?" David asks, face still slack with shock.

Jim slowly shakes his head, murmuring with his eyes closed and expression frozen in one of pain, "No," he grunts, "I don't know...some kind of shrapnel or something. Lucky it missed all the important-" his breath hitches as Spock's ministrations tug on the stitches, "bits…."

"You should have gone to a hospital," Spock mutters tersely, feeling a flicker of sympathy and amusement from their bond. Although, whatever Jim finds amusing, Spock assuredly does not know.

"And let the mercenaries catch up to me? Right…," Jim murmurs, his eyes closing again after watching Spock perform medical aide.

"So, instead, you decided to try your hand at sewing…," Spock mumbles, only now realizing he sees no exit wound, for if there is one, it must be at Jim's back and he is loath to look upon it, for surely Jim was not coordinated enough to have stitched that as well.

Digging into the medical kit, Spock is relieved to find it is refreshingly modern and contains a civilian class dermal regenerator. He checks it's charge and deems it enough for the task, sliding a chemical cocktail into it's injector site. Picking up the scissors again, Spock looks up at David and firms up his voice.

"David, I need you to leave so I may concentrate better on what I will need to do." Having the child's tumultuous emotions present in an already electrically charged room was distracting enough, not to mention that he didn't wish for David to witness him cutting his father open to reseal the wound.

David looks about to protest, his expression erupting with indignation and fear, but Spock forestalls him, "There is a bath in there, why don't you make use of it while I tend to your father, that way you may still hear us in case I may need your assistance." Spock doubts he would call on the child for that reason, but knows David well enough to be adept at placating him.

Pursing his lips in frustration, David finally obeys, tossing back over his shoulder, "Fine, but you better call me if something happens, okay?" He pauses until Spock agrees and the Vulcan doesn't continue his work until he hears the water running in the bathroom, the door open and casting light across the bedroom floor.

Turning on the lamp beside the bed, Spock takes the shade completely off so he might have the most light possible before gently inserting the tip of the scissors beneath a stitch, snipping it cleanly open. He continues, hearing Jim's breath catch with every clip of the shears, and seeing his stomach trembling with sensitivity under every touch of cool metal. Only when every stitch is clipped does Spock remove each one, carefully pulling them out of Jim's skin with a soft grimace. He has to damper his bond with James to block out the echoing sensations that Jim cannot block himself so he can focus on the task at hand.

"How you managed to remain conscious while treating your body in such a manner, I will never know..." Spock murmurs; appalled.

"Neither will I..." Jim mutters, garnering a glance of confusion from Spock.

They keep conversation to a minimum as the Vulcan tends to his mate. Spock powers on the dermal regenerator and uses it to the best of his ability, saving enough of a charge to tend to the exit wound he reveals by carefully rolling Jim over. The open wound still bleeds as he removes the cloth packed against it and he is slightly nauseous again at the sight. How Jim had pushed through the pain of such a wound in order to be on the run for so long and still remain conscious, Spock does not understand. Perhaps the human capacity to subsist on an adrenaline rush for long periods of time warranted more study. Or perhaps, Jim was simply lucky…

After tender pink regenerated skin stretches across Jim's major wounds, Spock sees to the more minor cuts and notes the tender rib, however, he lacks the proper equipment to heal it, so he binds Jim's torso as tightly as he dares, having to wake his mate in order to get him to sit upright to do so. "You are exhausted...but have you eaten? Drank water recently?" He questions softly, Jim's head leaning heavily against his clavicle as Spock secures the gauze binding about his middle.

"I could drink, but I don't think I could eat…," Jim admits, his words slurred, relying entirely on Spock's strength as the Vulcan lowers him back onto the bed.

Placing the shade back on the lamp, Spock gets to his feet and collects the kit, having removed a few aspirin tablets from within for Jim to take later. From the bathroom, the sounds of splashing have given way to the gurgling of a drain and David's anxious voices filters out to them:

"Is he okay now?"

"For now, David," Spock remarks, his own exhaustion weighing down his voice and making his steps heavy. Realizing that they have no idea who's house they are in, Spock glances around for pictures, anything that might indicate something about the owner of this house, but there is nothing. Spock decides that, without another soul seeming to be in the house, an unlocked door, and no other air cars in the residence, staying for a short while seems to be a viable option. Besides, transporting Jim does not seem wise at this point and time.

David emerges from the bathroom in a fluffy white robe at least two sizes too large for him, the sleeves and bottom hem trailing so long that they nearly trip him up as he wanders out into the bedroom, his wet hair plastered to his forehead and neck.

"Stay with your father while I go get our things," Spock instructs before reluctantly leaving the room, although his very being longs to stay and protect his mate. However, David needs clean clothes to change into, and he had decided to stay for the time being. 

Outside, the drizzle has returned and a heavy mist rapidly drenches Spock as he retrieves his and David's overnight bags from the car. He leaves them in the foyer, closing and locking the door, then taking his first real look around the interior of the home now that the main crisis seems to have passed.

The walls are painted a similar faded coral color as the outside of the home, so faded it almost appears white, and the ceilings slant high above Spock's head with a large metal chandelier hanging over the front door. Two odd, metal cranes in repose stand to his left inside the door and blue stone floor tiles transition to white, thick carpet throughout the rest of the house.

Turning left, Spock searches for the kitchen and passes an open dining area with a long, mirror-topped wooden dining table, tall white cloth chairs circling around it. A large, crystal chandelier is what had cast the inviting glow out through the long bank of narrow windows into the front yard. Spock's steps are soundless through the carpet. Just across from the dining room is an archway leading into the kitchen and Spock steps onto more, cool white stone tiles. There is a massive kitchen island in the center of the space and ash wood cabinets lining one whole side of the kitchen. The tall cabinets stretch from floor to ceiling to his right with a large refrigerator at the end of them. Spock searches every cabinet for a glass, finally finding a mug and filling it with water from the tap of the large white sink before wandering back out into the dining and family rooms. There is still a whole other section of the house unknown to him, but he leaves it in favor of returning to Jim, setting the mug on the nightstand in what seems to be the master bedroom and helping Jim sit up so he might drink and take an oral painkiller.

David had drug his bag into the bedroom and is crouching over it by a sliding glass door leading outside, pulling clean underwear and a shirt out to put on under the robe. A plush, white chaise lounge chair sits across the room in an alcove and David gravitates to it, sprawling across it tiredly and muttering, "I'm so tired..."

"Rest, I will watch over your father," Spock remarks, turning out the lamp beside the bed, the only source of illumination in the room diminished to the bathroom light across the room.

With a parting glance at Jim, Spock leaves him to cross into the bathroom, closing the door part way to block some of the light from spilling out and approaches the long counter with its two large basin sinks and overhanging lights. Turning on the taps, he braces his hands against the porcelain basin closest to him and bows his head forward, staring at the water curling down the drain. There are still a million and one questions, a thousand confused and hurt emotions, and an unfathomable number of possible answers and outcomes to this whole mess and they all swirl and tangle in his mind.

Tightly shutting his eyes, Spock cups a hand under the warm water and sends it in a shower over his face from brow to chin, a shiver rolling through his shoulders. Blinking water out of his eyes, he looks up at his reflection and slowly straightens, his shirt dappled with dark spots from his very human need to cleanse what isn't unclean. He looks haggard, deep greenish-yellow bruises under his eyes and a scruffy darkness of beard around his cheeks and chin. He is ashamed, but also feels justified. He could have lost his mate some days ago, but rather he had fought to keep after him, living through the stress and enough ragged emotion for both himself and David. His frustrations had not gotten the better of him.

Turning off the water in the sink, Spock reaches for a towel hung over a metal loop nailed to the wall, dabbing his face dry with it. He considers making use of the other facilities now available to him, but with the hour growing late and the niggling need to return to Jim's side chewing at the back of his mind Spock foregoes the need and instead changes into the only clean pair of pants and clean sweater he has left in his bag.

Turning the light out, Spock knows he had one last task ahead of him before he can rest, and that is to make sure the house is entirely clear. He has no way of knowing if this home is inhabited, even if it seems empty to him, so taking up his phaser from his bag, Spock sets it to stun and passes through the hallway and back out into the large foyer and family room. It is blissfully quiet, as if the house welcomes them and Spock wanders back through the dining area and past a pantry, noting how well stocked it was.

On the other side of the median bisecting the kitchen from another little eating area against a bank of windows, an additional hallway branched off toward the front of the house again, while an expansive room stood before him. A circle of pale cream couches faced a holovision and an old wood stove, which was surrounded by more stone work in the corner of the room. A neat stack of magazines were arranged on a coffee table and Spock picked one up, glancing at the date; it was nearly a year old.

Replacing the magazine on the table, Spock slowly turned, his hand out from his side, ready to react to any sounds or sights that posed a threat. But there was nothing, not a sound aside from the crickets outside and the soft whisper of wind against the window panes. From where he stood, he could look down the second hallway and noted four other doorways. Upon investigation, he finds the first door is to a bedroom, as is the second, and across from those was is a laundry room and another bathroom. The door at the end of the hall, opened cautiously, leads to a garage housing a sleek air car and a few stacks of boxes and some storage cabinets. Spock surmises that the car must have been Jim's mode of transportation.

The quiet is deafening and when Spock returns to the master bedroom, he breathes a slow sigh as he relaxes amongst the sounds of soft breathing of both Jim and David at rest. The house is secure, all the windows shut and locked, all the doors bolted, and yet he still has a sense of unease he cannot explain. Perhaps he has been on edge for far too long, running alert and wary as he and David had raced and stolen their way across two states.

Setting his phaser in the drawer of the bedside table, he slowly sits on the empty side of the large bed, reclining back against the headboard and looking around the room. There is a closed armoire of ash wood in the corner to his left, right next to the sliding glass doors leading into the backyard. A perfectly ubiquitous piece of wall art hangs directly across from the bed and a tiny crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling over the chaise lounge David slumbers upon. No matter how hard he scrutinizes his surroundings, however, nothing sets his mind at ease. Perhaps he requires meditation.

"You look strung out…," Jim's rasping voice jerks Spock's attention back toward his mate and he frowns slightly, not knowing what that term might mean. "Too wired to sleep?"

"I am...uncertain," Spock admits softly so as not to wake David, sliding down to lay fully on his back next to Jim above the sheets, his mate curled on his good side with the blanket nestled up against his neck.

Jim offers a slow blink, thoughts sluggish with exhaustion. "Why didn't you do as I asked you to...with David, I mean?" He asks softly, blue eyes retreating behind heavy lids.

"Because I could not be certain he would be safe." Spock glances across the room at David's still form, curled under a soft white throw blanket pulled from the back of the chaise lounge, "and I _too_ made your son a promise a long time ago..."

Looking across at his mate, Spock knows he is no longer awake, his features slack and head sunken into the plush pillow, mouth slightly ajar with shallow breaths leaving his lips.

Along with his sense of connection to David, Spock is marginally reassured by the presence of Jim at his side, and wonders why he isn't sagging with relief as his mate had been earlier. It is as if he is waiting for the source of his unease to show itself, to reveal itself in his brain through the bone-deep exhaustion and weakness. He doesn't manage to suss it out, however, before his body’s demands trumps over his mind's, sending him into sleep.

While Spock sleeps, he dreams for the first time since being off the _Enterprise_. But instead of his mind's eye being filled with memories and images of his mate, his soul longing to be reunited with it's other half across billions of lightyears, Spock's dreams turn into nightmares. Flickering shadows, extreme heat, and terrible pain. He wakes with a start an unknown amount of time later, his clothes stuck to his frame with perspiration, his body cold and clammy even as his blood burns fast through his veins in time with his racing heart.

Sitting up on the bed, he takes a headcount out of habit, finding David still deeply asleep across the room, but the spot at his side is empty. Alarm courses through him like a shot of epinephrine straight through his side. As he throws his legs over the edge of the bed, Spock's eyes dart about the dark room and, as he steps further into the room, his feet nearly get tangled up in something cast haphazardly across the carpet.

Bending down, he collects Jim's clothes, which have been strewn about the floor in wild abandon in a trail toward a side door. Opening the door Spock is hit with a blast of chilled air from outside., The door has opened to a little fenced in side garden. Sucking in a chilled breath, Spock steps out onto stone cobbles that freeze his bare feet. Overgrown flower bushes and other shrubs block his line of sight and as he turns down the bend in the path he finds a gate left suspiciously ajar. Sliding his hand across the rough wood, Spock peers out into the night, tempted to call out to his lover, but his chest is frozen solid like an immeasurable weight is pressing in on it and he cannot draw a breath deep enough to speak.

Fog curls in thick ribbons across the ground, swirling about Spock's legs as he sinks up past his toes into deep grass. Clouds pass overhead and in a clear moment the stars cast light across the yard and the rolling drop off at its boundaries. At the very edge of the yard overlooking the yawning drop toward the hard driveway below stands Jim, naked and entirely still.

Swallowing past a thickness in his throat, Spock hisses, "Jim?" There is no movement from his mate across the open grass as the fog licks at his bare thighs. Somewhere in the middle distance, there is a rumbling in the clouds threatening more violent weather and Spock clutches Jim's clothes tightly in his hands, taking a few more cautious steps toward his mate as his concerns begin to mount anew. Why is Jim standing out here, in the fog and impending rain, naked and alone and unresponsive? A new sense of worry seizes him and he reaches a hand out toward Jim's shoulder. However, just before his fingertips touch skin, Jim's head turns sharply, casting him in profile in the semi-darkness. What Spock sees sends chills down his spine, numbing his responses to those of shock and confusion and...fear.

Jim's eyes are startlingly blank, devoid of emotion and cognizance. They slide to their corners to regard Spock as if he is a stranger, casting a glance over his person. Recognition is slow to dawn, but when it does, Spock receives no reassurances. Jim isn't there, behind those eyes, or in the bond. A familiar presence, nonetheless, pervades Jim's mind and Spock drops his hand and takes a step back as the body of his lover turns toward him fully, like a predator toward its prey.

Blue, dispassionate eyes rake over Spock's face and Jim’s lips part to speak in his voice, but not his words. "I was burning…," His eyes glance at the clothes in Spock's hands, "they were full of fire."

"T'Mal…," Spock whispers, shaken by the familiar inflection using Jim's voice, turning it cold and detached. "What have you done?"

"What was necessary...for the work." Jim's lips move and words emerge, but they aren't right and Spock winces, only now reacting in a logical manner and throwing up his shields against his bondmate...and the imposter inside him.

"You are dead, your work is done, there is nothing left for you here. The warehouse was destroyed." He argues, hoping that perhaps T’Mal’s spirit may give out, may become quiescent and release Jim from whatever bonds she has placed his spirit under to possess him.

"No...not all of it," She retorts softly, her words nearly drowned out by another roll of thunder to the East.

Spock thinks of Jim's work, the things he had cleared out of his office at home. Were they still with Jim? Had he carted it all clear across the border to this place? Why? He begins anew, though feeling as though his words are falling on deaf ears. "You cannot do this, it is illogical, the things you cared about of this world mean nothing to you now and cannot-"

"You stand in my way?" She speaks over him, brows lifting, Jim's head cocking to the side, fallen prey to her manipulations.

“In doing this you are only serving your own selfish, unbridled emotions from your broken bond-" Spock continues, taking another step back as Jim approaches. No, as T'Mal approaches him, feet ghosting through the grass soundlessly, gaining on him. Jim's nude form backs Spock up against the garden fence and in his shock, Spock drops the clothes in his hands to the ground, freeing his hands to defend himself. But his mind is telling him no, Jim would never attack him, even as his senses scream danger. His hands rise but not in time to catch the fingers that close like a vice around his throat and force his head back against the fence. Spock gasps past the chokehold about his windpipe, his bare feet sliding in the muddy earth as strength far superior to Jim's own pushes him up the fence to stand at a disadvantage along his toes.

"You would be smart...not to stand in my way. Or shall I remind you of what I am capable of? Capable of doing to you? To that _boy_?" T'Mal's words are a threat, delivered in the capable and harsh tone Jim normally saved for the worst of his enemies; his commanding tone, his _anger_. Spock squeezes his eyes shut, trying to separate them in his mind. This isn't Jim, this isn't _his_ Jim.

"What do you want from us...?" He gasps out, voice choked as his lungs scream for air, muscles bruising under gripping fingers, capillaries bursting.

"To let me finish what I started," T'Mal whispers, leaning so close to Spock's face he can feel the breath delivering those words that turn him to stone, his hands spasming against Jim's shoulder and wrist where he's given up trying to dislodge his mate's grip. Jim's beautiful blue eyes glare coldly at him, tearing past something fragile and indeterminable within Spock's very soul as he views annoyance and disdain in the gaze of the one he loves. His eyes shut, trying to cast the image out, wanting to ward his mind against the wrongness of this situation and just as his head begins to go light and he fears he may pass out, T'Mal releases her hold around his throat, letting him fall to his knees in the mud gasping and choking.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Jim's feet retreat, dirty and stained, bare as they are, and as droplets of rain begin to splatter the ground around him, Spock hears a heavy sound across the cobblestones behind him. Holding his bruised throat in one hand, Spock peers back over his shoulder at the prone form of his mate sprawled face down in the garden, still and unresponsive. Water begins to drip off Spock's lashes as the clouds break and send down their torrent, plastering his hair to his head. Panting, Spock turns his face up toward the rushing onslaught and wishes there was someone out there he could cry out to, someone who would hear him...help him. For what is he to do now? Now that a demon has taken up residence in his lover...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	18. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viewing the most recent events from Jim's point of view, we relive the comfort...and the nightmare. What will Spock do when it begins to dawn on him how dangerous the situation he and David have walked into really is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome back for another update of _'Human Nature'_ , my blessed baby of a fic. This chapter is a little longer than usual, but that's because I decided to introduce a new point of view! I hope you guys enjoy the perspective of the story through young David's eyes, and let me know what you think! 
> 
> As always, I want to thank my lovely beta reader [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate), for her wonderful and insightful advice and being available, even when life-stuff gets in the way of things sometimes. This chapter wouldn't be half as good without her edits. 
> 
> I do have a song recommendation for this chapter, in fact I am borrowing the title of it for the update. If you would like, give [_'Control'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so8V5dAli-Q) by **Halsey** a listen to, I thought it fit Jim's bits in the chapter quite nicely. 
> 
> I hope you all are having a nice Labor Day weekend, and for those of you who are like me...who still work the holiday, I hope you got double pay. ;) Happy reads!

Leather.

It's warm and black and creased where the stitching wraps around the shape of a steering wheel and Jim slides his fingers over the smooth texture, his eyes feeling heavy as he struggles to lift them from their focus on the dashboard of the aircar. Where was he?

There's one tense moment where he braces for the pain, for the searing stab like a knife through his skull, but it doesn't come and instead he's left adrift, peering up from under his brows at where he is this time. It's sort of sad how he's grown strangely used to waking up in new places.

He's in a garage this time, which is strange because this isn't _his_ garage. The walls are white and pristine, with a long row of cabinets lining the wall in front of the aircar. Numbly, he reaches forward with a heavy hand and shuts the vehicle off. As the lights wink out the garage is cast into gloom.

Sluggishly, Jim slaps his hand down toward the door release and misses, having to try again just to get the car door open, then leans forward to get out, only to have the seatbelt lock against his chest and force him back into his seat. He grunts softly, frustration and confusion building. How the hell had he gotten here, and why the fuck was he so slow? It is like moving his legs through cement when he finally manages to get out of the aircar, leaning heavily on the door to shut it and taking the opportunity to rest against the side of the vehicle for support, his cheek pressing against the cool frame. It helps clear his head a little and he blinks his eyes open, unaware that he had even shut them to begin with.

Following the line of the car to the trunk, he leans heavily against it as he slowly shuffles away, squinting at the sunlight that slants in through the windows of the closed garage doors. Bringing his hand up to shield his face, he's dazzled for a moment and cannot help but laugh weakly at himself, because he hasn’t been so fucked up in his life. It feels almost like he'd taken something, or drunk until he'd blacked out. But he has no memories of doing such a thing and the harder he tries to think about it, the less he finds he cares and he lets the endeavor slip away, his thoughts turning instead toward a dazed sort of exploration.

Stumbling through the empty garage, he makes for a side door and nearly falls into it, catching himself on the door handle and gasping in shock as it suddenly swings inward on its hinges, unlocked. He tumbles unceremoniously toward the tile floor, and he's so slow that he can't act in time to catch himself, resulting in an impact accompanied by a resounding crack sending a jolt of pain through his cheek and skull and rattling his teeth. Jim groans as his fall reminds him of his other injuries, but the pain from those is muted, as if felt from a yawning distance. Looking up, he stares through an open doorway to his right into what seems to be a bathroom, a pale blue tub directly in view.

For a moment he considers just staying there on the floor, since it seems like a whole lot less of an effort than actually getting up would be. But, then again, wasn't he James Tiberius Fucking Kirk? When he was knocked down, didn't he just get back up again? Well, at least that's what he'd always told himself.

Gritting his teeth, Jim makes his arms move and slides them across the tile floor, finding enough strength to get himself back up onto his knees again then sitting back on his heels and squeezing his eyes shut as everything spins around him. It feels like his center of gravity has lurched sideways and his head leans heavily to the left, as if his damn brain had sloshed to that side and was weighing him down. Colliding with the wall beside him, Jim relishes the cool feeling of it against the side of his feverishly hot face. All his limbs feel too big and unwieldy, sort of like when he'd reacted to that drug Bones had given him and his hands had swelled up to three times their normal size. He looks down at them now, just to be sure, but they look normal, if a bit shaky. Lifting them toward his face, he touches his features and snorts humorlessly at himself. It’s like he’s been drugged, alright.

Using the doorknob of the garage door for a leveraging point, Jim pushes himself back up on his feet and lurches down the hallway, which seems to stretch and twist before him. His steps get jumbled up as he goes. The blood draining from his head is making him believe he is literally on a tightrope, swaying high in the breeze and nearly falling to his right and his left over and over again, catching himself against the walls every time.

He passes doors but doesn’t look inside the rooms as he wanders out into what looked like a living room. The ceilings are _so_ high up and he doesn’t dare look, lest he fall backward and not be able to get back up again. Shuffling forward, he runs out of furniture and walls to lean against and ends up stranded, holding onto the edge of a low table loaded down with holoplayer chips and an ancient looking sound system.

Blinking against the mental fog threatening to creep back up over him once more, Jim forces it aside with a slow shake of his head. The movement makes him nauseous however and he swallows back the sick, dry feeling in his throat with a grimace. A new thought enters his head. Who's house is this?

_'Rest.'_

Jim hears that voice again; that hissing and whispering voice he was beginning to hate. Who was this? No, this must be just his subconscious speaking right? He does need to rest, after all, but how could he just wander into some stranger's house? This wasn't his house...

This wasn't home.

_'Sit down, James.'_

Sit? Sit where? The couches...they seem so far away across open and empty carpet. What if he falls? He isn’t sure he'd be able to muster up enough fighting spirit to get to his feet again, especially now that his side was beginning to burn and itch. He'd forgotten, in some capacity, about his wound and when he looks down at himself he blanches, because, at some point, he'd started to bleed again. It seems his stitches are not holding very well.

_'The transport will heal.'_

Jim snorts, laughing softly before he is forced to stop with a wince, his ribs feeling tight. The 'transport', that is what Spock would say isn’t it? His 'vessel'? It seems ironic that he is thinking of his Vulcan mate now, after he'd all but abandoned him... and for what? Why had he left San Francisco?

Fear. That was why he'd left, he was afraid. But of what? Surely Spock could have helped him, could have protected him as he'd always done, as he always would because they were-

_'He cannot protect you, you are alone, always alone...'_

The carpet beneath his feet is swimming before his eyes and Jim groans, bringing a heavy hand up to clasp over his mouth as his nausea returns tenfold. Turning away from the living room, Jim looks back down the hallway toward the bathroom, but doubts he'd make it in time. But just as he begins to panic, that terrible voice making him feel like shit, the nausea passes as swiftly as it had come, and Jim finds himself able to straighten up a bit.

Taking a risk, he leaves the security of one wall in exchange for another across from him and investigates the rest of the house, passing the entrance to a kitchen and a large dining area with a glinting chandelier as big as a holovision. His dulled blue eyes wander, taking in every unfamiliar thing and when his fingers meet soft fabric as he is feeling his way along, he looks down and sees the inviting cushions of a sofa.

Like a dying man crawling through the desert, he pulls himself along the back of the long sectional sofa and thinks about just crawling over the low back, but bringing his leg up higher than his knee causes a sharp stab of agony that doubles him over. So he drops to his knees and crawls, pulling himself up weakly onto the cushions as he rounds the end of the couch. Rolling up into a sitting position, Jim leans back into the inviting embrace of the furniture and lets his head hang back, his gaze roaming over the high ceiling. It seems to spin slowly to the right around him, slowly turning and turning like he is on a slow merry-go-round.

The house is quiet around him, as if waiting with baited breath for him to do something, to say something, as if he were a king and the house his subject, awaiting his orders. Every time he tries to gather his thoughts though, they scatter like mice fearing the cat. But why was he afraid? Was it because he was alone? No, he had been alone before, on away missions sometimes, alone and cold and nearly dying. This fear he felt now was for the loss of his mate and of their bond, the place in his mind where it resided now a torn and jagged hole filled with pain and suffering. But that didn’t feel right either exactly...

Frowning, Jim brings his hands up and slides them over his face, which is numb to his own touch. Idly, he pulls on his earlobes, trying to shock some kind of awareness back into himself again rather than be at the mercy of this aimless drifting feeling. These memories of pain and suffering, they weren't right, because he still _has_ a bondmate... doesn’t he?

_'He is dead...'_

Spock? Spock was dead? No, that couldn't be true, that wasn't true. It wasn't possible! The mercenaries, the individuals who wanted his research, who wanted his genius... they wouldn't hurt Spock, would they? But when Jim searches within himself, tries to grasp onto that ever present _feeling_ that is Spock inside his very being; he is only met with emptiness and a numb detachment.

Should it be disturbing that he wasn't distraught? That Spock's death just makes him all the more numb? That the terrible images of his Vulcan mate bloodied and cold and crumpled on the desert sands of Vulcan under giant boulders and rock formations don’t cause him to cry out, don’t spur him into anger or hurt? The pain is there, but it is deep down, in the darker waters he hasn’t sunk to yet. Whatever this numbness is, it is protecting him from that pain. From the tears and the anger and the fear that is threatening him from across the veil.

"Please…," He whispers, his voice rasping and cracked, lips feeling nearly glued together. Closing his eyes, his head still reels as if the house still spins around him, even without his ability to see it. _Let... me... **think**!_ His fingers had been crawling down his chest, shaking and fighting the inevitable moment when they reached his side where his injury throbbed. Before the voice could warn him not to, Jim digs his fingers into his side and sucks in a ragged gasp as white hot agony shoots through him and seizes his body up tight. His legs kick out and he rolls across the back of the sofa, catching himself on his forearm across the cushions.

Shaking, Jim shivers as the numbness recedes, and he's almost sad to see it go, because in its place comes terrible pain. He groans and sinks his teeth into his clenched fist, wishing to hell that Bones was here, that _anyone_ was here, someone to help him and maybe shove some painkillers down his throat. Someone like... _Spock._

_He is **dead**!_

Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Jim shakes his head slowly again, wanting that voice to just stop, to swallow it's lies and never spout them again. Spock couldn't be dead, he just knew it somehow, _knew_ his mate was out there and probably looking for him, probably so very worried... maybe furious even. Furious that Jim had gone and left him and-

_David!_

He'd left David, broken the single most important promise Jim had ever made to his son. _'I will never leave you'_. But he'd left him, left both David _and_ Spock. 

Groping in his pockets with one hand, he searches for his communicator, hoping that maybe if he calls Spock he'll be able to speak to David, perhaps begin to smooth over any trust lost with his son. But then he remembers, he had smashed his communicator after calling Spock that morning (or was it a few mornings ago now? Jim couldn't say...).

Stomach clenching with guilt, Jim pushes himself back up into a sitting position, even though the movement causes his injuries to protest terribly.

_'Forget about them...rest.'_

The voice comes again, this time no longer as angry or loud, but instead soothing and coaxing, making Jim sorely tempted to obey. But how can he forget about his son, about Spock? Maybe... if he just sleeps for a little while, he’ll wake up and feel a little better. Maybe he could get back in that aircar and go home, back to San Francisco, back home.

_'Jim!'_

He would shout Jim's name, just like that, full of relief and love and joy, brown eyes lit up like shining stars and fingers clasping Jim's forearms so tightly he might bruise and spin him around, spin him to face the Vulcan and Jim would smile...and smile... and smile. _Spock..._

_'Jim!'_

Yes, the way the Vulcan's voice sounded out his name, it was a comfort and Jim turns his head, as if to catch that sound all the better, to let it filter over his senses like liquid gold and warm as honey. Let it soothe his aches and pains like the balm it is to his beaten and battered body. Jim longs to surrender to those sounds and drift in Spock's voice like a calm river. Hadn't he told Spock once he could listen to the Vulcan read the dictionary? He could listen to it all day.

"Dad!"

Jim blinks, disturbed from his calming river of Spock's voice and the memories thereof only to be hit with a weight like a freight train barrelling into him. He grunts in pain, his injuries screaming in reaction to the body wrapping itself around him, pressing in on him, clinging to him.

"James…." Jim starts at the sound of that voice, his eyes dry and sore as he finally lifts them away from the empty air he had been staring at for God only knew how long. Was it dark in here? It hadn't been dark earlier... how long had he been here? How long had Spock and David been here?

_David..._

A thick lump in Jim's throat reminds him of his guilt and he wraps his arms slowly around his son, feeling as if he has just awoken from a dream. Or was this the dream? But David is heavy and hurting him a little with how he is leaning into him. However, the instinct to comfort was second nature to him and his hands settle on his son's back, holding him in a daze.

Spock's gentle yet concerned face slides into his line of sight and Jim feels a wave of relief of his own. So he hadn't been imagining things, Spock really _was_ here. The Vulcan touches Jim's knee and peers up at him with worry plain in his brown eyes, worry that twists Jim's insides to shit.

_’Ashaya, can you hear us?’_

_Yes_ , he wants to say. Yes, I can hear you, I can see you, you're both here and safe, not dead. But when he parts his lips, no words come out and it's almost as if someone has removed his tongue. How did language even feel against his tongue anyway? What were the words he wanted to say?

Like someone moving in a dream, Jim watches as Spock's hand comes up from his knee toward his face, and like being shocked with a battery, Jim feels shock at the Vulcan's touch where it slides along his cheek. It scares both his son and himself, causing Spock to withdraw his hand as well. Sucking in a deep breath, Jim can feel the ache in his lungs, as if he has not breathed deeply in hours. It hurts his ribs.

"Dad?" David is looking at him, confused, his voice small and meek.

Maybe if he could just get his damn barings, this wouldn't be so hard. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim claws tooth and nail for some familiar feeling. For _himself_. This was not him, this was not James T. Kirk, James Kirk would have hugged his son so tightly that it would have squeezed the air out of the child. James Kirk would have looked at his mate with love and voiced his apologies, expressed his guilt and regret.

When Jim opens his eyes again, he glances at his loved ones, feeling shaky with the shock Spock's touch had delivered to his system and forcing the last of that numb feeling of detachment aside. "Spock...David? You-...what are you?" Shaking his head, Jim reaches toward his temple, feeling the stab of a headache returning, much to his chagrin.

"James, are you well?" Spock questions him, his voice modulated to a softer tone, one Jim hasn’t heard from his lover for what feels like a long time. The Vulcan moves off the floor, sitting instead at Jim's side and gives David room to stand before his father, the both of them studying Jim's face like it might give up all the answers to their questions. Why did you leave? Where have you been? What is _wrong_ with you?

Jim sags as his exhaustion overrides the excitement and shock of seeing his mate and son before him again, and Spock is there to catch him, supporting Jim's weight as he leans into the Vulcan. Jim allows himself to feel relieved, to feel like he is no longer alone. Had he ever been alone?

Fingers touch his face again and Jim turns his gaze up toward his mate, wondering if Spock was simply reminding himself that Jim was real as well. "How did you find me?" He asks his mate, confusion ringing in his voice. Spock's arm shifts around his shoulders and Jim cannot help but bask in the safety and warmth it provides, given how cold and shaky he feels now.

"We chased you all the way from San Francisco!" David remarks and Jim can tell his son has been consumed with frustration and worry, his small fists now clenching at his sides, "If you'd just told Spock where you were going-"

"I couldn't…," Jim says automatically, because he really couldn't. Because... he doesn’t even know where he’s ended up. For all he knows, he is clear across the country.

"Where is the Professor?" Spock asks him softly, as if worried that speaking any louder or more forcefully might break his mate.

His question confuses Jim, because why was Spock asking about the professor? Hadn't he told Spock before he'd left that she was dead? Maybe he'd...forgotten. "Gone...she's gone, Spock." Jim explains, shaking his head, feeling overwhelmed and just so damn exhausted, "Died in the warehouse with almost everybody else." All those bodies; the smell of burnt flesh and electrical wiring still tastes acrid at the back of his throat and Jim swallows thickly, dispelling it, "God, Spock, it was so-" Fighting the urge to crumple into a pile of spent emotions, Jim reflects on how the hell he'd even gotten out of there. It was a damn miracle, "I don't know how I was the only one who got out of there but, here I am and I...Spock, I don't know what I'm...where I'm-..." What question did he ask first? Surely Spock knew where they were. But it suddenly didn't seem as important and Jim let his questions go, let them flutter away from him like pages in the wind.

"Hush, Ashaya...you are injured, we'll speak of this later." Spock forestalls him gently, and Jim cannot help but be grateful for the excuse not to try. He is just so damn tired…

The room moves around Jim again as he is lifted off the sofa and he lets himself be carted off without protest, lets Spock carry him through the house to a different room, one he hadn't seen yet. He's set down on a bed and, when a light is turned on, he squints and blinks, his eyes watering as the light stabs at his unadjusted eyes.

He lets Spock take charge of the situation, watches him command his son from a place of almost detachment. It is as if he is watching all of this from outside himself, that is until Spock touches his wound. Jim winces slightly, the twinge enough to ground him again. "Why did you not visit a hospital?" Spock questions and Jim shudders in reply, because why the hell would he have gone to a hospital? Didn't Spock remember he hated those places?

Spock turns his face away from the ragged stitching visible in Jim's side and an echo of pain and sympathy slips through their bond to Jim, who frowns and tries to play it off. "That bad, hm?" He responds to his son's exclamation as the child peers down at Jim's torso, morbid fascination and sympathy evident in his expression.

David asks about the wound and Jim answers him best he can, because he isn’t even quite sure what had happened to him to cause this punch through his side. He remembers vaguely having to remove himself from some kind of shrapnel impaled in the floor, but his whole memory around the event is hazy, given that he had passed out more than once during his efforts.

David gets sent away, a decision which Jim cannot blame Spock for. He probably should have done that himself, but it is like his sense of parenting has gone clear out the window at the moment. Spock's looks of ragged sympathy and pain are only making it harder for Jim to focus on anything but his own misery anyway.

They don't speak for a while as David bathes in the adjoining bathroom and Spock uses a medkit Jim had directed them toward a moment ago to fix him up. He couldn't really explain how he'd known where the medkit was in this place, but something had told him that if he lived here...he'd have kept it in the closet.

"How you managed to remain conscious while desecrating your body in such a manner, I will never know..." Spock murmurs to him, his tone laced with disgust and horror, and Jim couldn't blame him. He'd been just as horrified at himself when he'd come around in that dingy public restroom, a moment that felt like was weeks ago to him.

"Neither will I..." Jim admits truthfully, because he still doesn’t know how in the hell he'd done it, specifically the how, given that he only seemed to wake up from unconsciousness after the stitches had been completed. His words earn him a look full of confusion from Spock and Jim can't help the weak smile it causes him to express. He really has no better answer for his mate.

After Spock manages to heal those of Jim’s injuries he is able to, Jim has to admit that he does feel a bit better for not having the constant feeling of stitches pulling at his flesh as he moves. Now, it's just the tender and raw feeling of new skin over his injuries and it makes him want to scratch at it, but he refrains with a nearly herculean effort as Spock helps him into a sitting position while wrapping a binding cloth about his torso to ease the stabbing pains in his ribs.

"You are exhausted...but have you eaten? Drank water recently?" Spock intones softly, and with their skin touching in places, Jim can distinctly make out the Vulcan's tumultuous emotions. They are a tangle of pain, sympathy, worry, and relief. Oddly enough, Jim can also pick up on a tendril of longing but he cannot imagine what Spock might be feeling it in regards to, so he forgets about it.

"I could drink, but I don't think I could eat…," Jim admits, feeling way too drowsy to even contemplate expending energy in order to eat something. He is placed back against the bed with such tender care on Spock's part that Jim feels his eyes sting a bit and he turns his head away, blinking away the offending tears that threaten his tired composure.

"Is he okay now?" David asks from the open door of the bathroom and Jim watches his son shuffle out into the bedroom in a bathrobe too large for him. The sight is almost enough to make him laugh, but he knows doing so would cause him a whole lot of pain, so instead he smiles.

"For now, David," Spock replies and Jim can sense the sheer exhaustion in his mate as the Vulcan lets out an uncharacteristic sigh, walking with a heavier step than Jim was used to seeing in him. "Stay with your father, I'll go get our things," Spock instructs David before leaving the room, casting a reluctant glance over Jim before disappearing. Jim reflects that reluctance himself, because he doesn't like seeing Spock leave and a feeling of apprehension and fear rises in him as he's left alone. Only... he's not alone, and he remembers David as the child climbs up onto the empty side of the bed beside him, sitting and watching him intently, almost as if David fears Jim might disappear.

Reaching out, Jim rests his hand against David's knee where it peeks out beneath the edge of the bathrobe, giving it a weak squeeze. "It's alright David...I'm not going anywhere." _How can I? It hurts to move everything..._ , he wants to add, but doesn't as David nods, even though the fear and worry hasn't left his pale blue eyes.

He must doze off at some point, because the next moment he is aware of is when Spock is back in the room and David is dressing himself over by the windows. Spock helps Jim sit up enough that he might take a few weak sips of water, swallowing some pills upon instruction and hoping they'll help ease his pain as he lays his head back against the pillows, Spock's hand cradling the crown of his head in guidance. "Thank you," he murmurs softly, though he isn't sure if Spock had has even heard him as the Vulcan turns to regard David, who is sprawling out over a chaise lounge seat across the room.

"I'm so tired..,." David complains, flopped face down across the chaise.

"Rest, I will watch over your father," Spock offers, and Jim cannot help but notice how the Vulcan reassures his son. Jim wonders how much the both of them have been forced to grow together while he had been on the run... running _away_. Jim feels that same choking guilt from before and shoves it roughly down, because wallowing in self-pity would be pathetic and disgusting right now. Especially after what he'd put his two boys through. How grown up David seems right now, worrying over his father, something no child should have to do.

Spock disappears into the bathroom and Jim misses him immediately; hates how needy it makes him feel as he turns his head to gaze at the small sliver of light peeking out from under the closed bathroom door. Spock was probably mad and just hiding it under his worry, under his exhaustion. Jim always seems to fuck things up, and he hopes he’ll be able to wade past this terrible fog already creeping back over his mind so he can try to explain himself, try to apologize even. Surely he had a good reason for what he did... right?

With the lights now out in the bedroom, Jim turns his eyes toward David, who is already curled up on the chaise lounge, too tired to move or do more than pull a blanket off the back to cover himself as he fell asleep. A part of Jim longs for his son to come join him on the bed, to curl up into his side as he always has before when he was tired and couldn't sleep, when he couldn't stand to be out of Jim's company. But...it seems something has changed that. Had Jim broken that part of his son?

Pursing his lips, Jim watches with tired eyes as Spock emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, his bangs damp and shining in the brief light emitted from the other room before he's crossing toward the bag he'd brought into the bedroom with him at some point. When he pulls out a phaser, Jim tenses, and then is immediately appalled at the feeling of fear that single action has shot through him. Why is he afraid of Spock with a phaser? It doesn’t make any sense and Jim blames his jittery state of mind on his pain and exhaustion. Tomorrow...everything has to be better tomorrow, right?

Spock is gone a while and rather than fall asleep as his body wants him to do, Jim listens to the softest of sounds as the Vulcan makes his way throughout the large house. He hears his soft foot falls a little while later and struggles onto his side, using the bottom sheet to pull himself there so as to give the wound at his back a break from his weight. Spock comes around the bed and Jim can make him out in the darkness as he sets his phaser in the nightstand. "You look strung out…," Jim comments, because Spock did look rather worn, and whether that was simply because Jim had never seen so much beard growth on the guy before, or because his brown eyes seemed never to blink, Jim wasn't sure. "Too wired to sleep?" He questions, even as Spock moves to lie back against the bed, although he does so atop the sheets, almost as if he is worried he might need to make a quick escape from bed to attend to danger. They used to sleep atop of their sheets on the Enterprise, dressed and waiting, resting until the klaxons sounded as they had roamed through dangerous parts of space on a mission.

"I am...uncertain," Spock admits quietly, his voice pitched low as not to wake David.

Licking his thick lips, Jim swallows past the returning dryness of his tongue before he speaks again. "Why didn't you do as I asked you to...with David, I mean?" He asks, although he thinks he already knows the answer, even as Spock shifts in the bed beside him, no doubt looking over at him with his better vision. But Jim cannot see him, not with his heavy eyelids slipping closed, the painkillers finally easing some of his burden, tensed muscles relaxing finally.

"Because I could not be certain he would be safe," Spock replies, but if he adds anything else to his answer, Jim doesn't know it as he basks in the closeness of his mate and is comforted by it, succumbing to the rest the voice of reason in his head had told him to do hours ago.

/OoO\

It is so hot, like the Vulcan desert sands, and it is not a comfortable heat. Shifting in bed, there is a sense of pain and rather than submit to it, she works to suppress it. After all, this wasn't her pain to suffer, she had no need of it and it only served to distract her. T'Mal opens her eyes into total darkness, suddenly thrown by how her vision has suffered. All she can make out are dark shapes and hues of black and grey around her and she turns, disoriented, searching a hand out for something, anything, across the soft surface she lays on. She is reaching for her communicator, her PADD, anything that might supply light, but she doesn't find it and the itching and burning over her skin spurs her to move.

Rolling toward the side of the bed, T'Mal gasps as the movement shoots another wave of pain stronger than the last through her body. Grasping the sheets covering her, she pushes them aside frantically, needing air, needing to feel like she can breathe. The air in the room is hot and stifling and as her feet hit the floor, it is as if the room is covered in hot coals. Struggling to her feet, she is appalled at how weak she feels as she staggers about the foot of the bed, gripping one of the posts.

Looking down at herself, she is horrified to see flames licking at the hems of her pant legs and she struggles out of them, kicking them off her legs and bracing an arm against the mattress for support as she nearly falls in her haste to be free. She claws the tattered and flaming shirt off her body, a surge of panic gripping her so tightly she cannot hope to suppress it away as she stumbles across the room. The whole room is not only hot, but suddenly aflame as well as she turns in a full circle, licking fire closing in on her and forcing her up against the far wall. There is a child on a low couch to her right, a full grown male reclining in the bed across the room and how do they not feel these flames? How do they not wake up and fear it, escape it?!

With a ragged gasp and a soft cry, she finds a door in the wall she skirts and twists it, feeling it give and whirling to hurl herself out into the chilly night air. Gasping and panting, her chest hurts with the force of her heartbeats and her fear and she staggers over to a wooden gate in the darkness of the night, sagging against its support. Here, under the shifting light of the moon with it's haze of clouds, T'Mal chances a glance down over her person and remembers...

This isn't her body…

This isn't death. This is James Kirk. His masculine figure disconcerts her and she slides a hand up over her face, but it isn't her face; she feels a longer jaw line and a sharper nose. The brows are all wrong and the ears are rounded. She heaves out a trembling breath, knowing that this shakiness is illogical. After all, hasn’t she been piloting this body for over two days now?

Turning, she manipulates Jim's hand into unlocking the gate, letting herself out into the backyard of the house she had orchestrated the purchase of months ago. It had been a bit of a gamble, she knew, but with her plans still in their formative stages she had needed a place out of the reach of Starfleet...out of the reach of any government agency, really.

Fog swirls about her legs, or rather the hard muscled legs of the body she is cohabiting. Distantly, she can feel Jim in the back of her mind, curled up in rest, dormant in every sense of the word. It's a feeling she'd thought she could get used to, but it seemed he was still strong and easily gained control when she felt weak. It was tiring, being in this body, working to maintain her hold on the brain that controlled it. Any emotion that was too strong for her to suppress would often times override her control, and Jim would slip to the forefront. But at the moment... he was exhausted and weak, it was easier this way.

Walking barefoot across the long grass, she stares out over the dark yard and the sloping hill below, the long and narrow driveway ending at the far distant road just visible through the tall evergreen trees. The air is charged with electricity and tastes acidic on her tongue as she breathes it in past parted lips, acclimating to the feel of a slower human body. It is less dense than her own body had been. She lets her senses drift, feeling out her telepathy in this trapped state. The fingers are nowhere near as sensitive as hers had been, and although the brain is psi-null, her mind stimulates areas of the human brain normally left unutilized, and she is able to sense the live minds in the house behind her. She can sense... that bond. James Kirk was bonded to a Vulcan; something she had not expected, and something she hoped would not become an inconvenience but rather a tool for her to use.

Closing her eyes, T'Mal lets go of the fear she had experienced upon waking, the memories of her body's death back in the labs. She was not dead, after all; her katra lived.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and T'Mal likens it to the sound of the sandstorms upon her homeworld and experiences a weak moment of longing, followed by sharp pain and anger. Her fists clench at her sides. She _must_ continue the work, or everything she has gained would be lost, everything she stood to live for like this would be over and impossible. Opening her eyes, she tries once more to slip toward a state of meditation here, even as she senses a chill in the body she occupies, although it is not as vulnerable to the cold as she might have been. But seeking the calm she cannot seem to muster right now is just as futile as it had been before, it would seem, and frustration bubbles below the surface of her carefully controlled demeanor. She stares blankly out at the fields and trees, nostrils flaring with anger and annoyance.

There is a presence she becomes aware of at her back and T'Mal chastises herself for not having noticed the male's approach as she twitches her head in his direction, forestalling an impending touch to her shoulder with a hard stare at the creature she had met some time ago in her office back in San Francisco. Mr. Spock, Human-Vulcan hybrid, the former Captain of the Enterprise and James Kirk’s bondmate. Her eyes narrow into a glare as that ever present fear tries to grip her once again. It fuels her anger as she experiences it, and rather than fighting to suppress it, as this body seems somewhat incapable of doing... she lets it fill her, twist in her gut and run tension down her limbs.

Spock seems to realize that this isn't his James Kirk, that this isn't his mate, and T'Mal lets him figure it out, lets him see the power she has over Kirk as she creeps across their bond like a poison. She sees the moment it dawns on him, his eyes going wide and pained, just before he shuts her out. Turning to face the Vulcan, she rakes her eyes over him, notes the open stance, too shocked to think to defend himself no doubt. Well, his mistake would be her gain.

However, the clothes in his hands must have been what she had discarded, and she feels the need to explain, her voice low and odd sounding, even to herself, as she speaks with another’s vocal cords. "I was burning…," she remarks in Jim Kirk's voice, but the inflection is all hers, "they were full of fire." The clothes, how were they not burned to ashes by now? Had she truly been hallucinating?

"T'Mal…," Spock whispers, as if he cannot bring himself to speak her name louder lest he make it more true. "What have you done?" He asks.

She suppresses the urge to scoff, because of course he would be self-righteous, of course he would be accusing. But this had been only logical; she had needed an escape, had needed to fix what the spy amongst her workers had broken, and this had been the only way. This was what she'd planned for. "What was necessary...for the work," she remarks, Jim's low voice leaving the lips like a viper's hiss.

"You are dead, your work is done, there is nothing left for you here. The warehouse was destroyed." Spock attempts to argue with her, which only causes her anger to burn brighter still. She was not dead, she was living on, in James Kirk, through his mind and with his mind. With his thoughts and memories and work, she would be able to complete her plans on her own. The warehouse might have been destroyed in the attack, but she could rebuild, she could use what she had hidden here...in this house on a hill in Coos Bay, Oregon.

"No...not all of it," T'Mal retorts, voice barely above a whisper, more thunder sounding in the distance and the wind picking up, preparing to unleash a storm on them all.

"You cannot do this, it is illogical, the things you cared about of this world mean nothing to you now and cannot-" Spock attempts to continue arguing with her and T'Mal blinks past the building rage. She hadn't felt this kind of emotion in a long while, not since... well, not since _he_ died. She dare not think of _him_.

"You stand in my way?" She asks, brows lifting, manipulating Jim's expressive face toward one of daring and fury.

"Whom are you serving by doing this but your own selfish, unbridled emotions from your broken bond-" Spock began, his words like a slap in T'Mal's face, for _how_ did he know about her bond? She takes a step toward him, her anger making her fingers clench and unclench, a desire to lay hands on his person becoming too much to argue against. This Vulcan, this _creature_ could ruin her if he so decided. He could put a stop to her entire plan and everything would be lost, but she was not going to allow that.

Distantly, she is surprised Spock does not defend himself, but rather backpedals as she gains ground on him and with a hand weaker than her own, she uses all her remaining strength to pin the Vulcan up against the garden fence. She forces a grunt out of Spock at the force of her hold and feels some satisfaction over his inability to fight her off; or was he simply unwilling to do so, worried he might hurt the body of his bondmate? She manipulates Jim's fingers around the Vulcan's throat, sees the way Spock's eyes bulge as he is being choked, held pinned like a butterfly to a cork board and uncertain what to do. If she is tasting his emotions right, they are severe and reeling. He is torn between fighting back or lying still, kept in shock and confusion over seeing a body he harbored love and affection for threatening him in a fashion he'd never thought Jim capable of.

"You would be smart...not to stand in my way. Or shall I remind you of what I am capable of? Capable of doing to you? To that _boy_?" T'Mal threatens, feeling Spock's panic rise just as quickly as he goes cold at her words. She is pleased that James Kirk's voice is capable of delivering the right amount of fear through her words, hardened in a tone she had never heard from the man when he had been solely in control of himself. It is commanding and clipped, hard and lashing like a whip over sensitized skin and it makes Spock flinch.

"What do you want from us...?" He gasps out at her, eyes turning green from lack of oxygen and the strain she was putting on muscles and tendons.

"To let me finish what I started," T'Mal whispers, leaning in closely toward Spock's face, so close that his trembling breath wafts against her cheeks and makes her harbor a brief feeling of revulsion. The Vulcan's hands twitch against her frame, but they do not push her away, or attempt to gain control over her. Rather, they lay forgotten against the body she controls, and she glares at him, satisfied that he seems thoroughly cowed. Perhaps he will not be an issue after all, if he is so scared of her... perhaps she can use him.

After catching a glimpse of something breaking inside the Vulcan, his brown eyes strangely human in their vulnerability, T'Mal lets him go and watches him sink to the grass, just as the rain starts to fall from overhead. Leaving him gasping and coughing behind her, T'Mal draws on what strength she has left to make her retreat, but as the thunder rolls through the dark clouds above her, something else seems to roll inside of her and there comes a horrified cry from within her head that splits it open, her head blooming in agony. "Geh!" She grunts, reaching up to grip the sides of her head as Jim's anger and confusion swells so fast and hard inside her that it leaves her weak and disoriented. Crashing to her knees in the garden, she blacks out before her face even hits the pavement and is grateful for it, the unsteady woven tracks of their two intertwined souls snapping at the tension and tenuous hold they struggle to steal from one another. 

Together, as one, they lay in a shamble across the cobbles, face mashed and bleeding against the stones, exhausted from the fight.

 

"What's going on?" David asks the dark room when he finally acknowledges that something had awoken him, causing him to turn over on a bed that was definitely too hard to be his and to open his eyes. He sees a figure illuminated by the weak light filtering in through the open door, which he now notices leads outside, and for a moment he's terrified because all he can see are shadows. However, the voice that pierces the darkness instantly soothes him; it's just Spock.

"Shut the door, David." It's an order, and one that David feels too tired to obey, but the steel in the Vulcan's voice makes him think twice and he warily slips off the chaise, pressing his hands up against the open door and closing it firmly against a sudden gust of chilly night air and the damp smell of rain.

"Spock?" Turning around, David rubs his eyes, hoping he’ll see better in the dark afterward, but instead all he sees are flashes of strained light. He hated it when his eyes did that, made them feel sore.

When he can finally see again, Spock has just straightened up from leaning over the bed in the center of the room, and now that David is more awake he notices his father situated there on the mattress, Spock pulling the blankets over him. Had Dad gotten up out of bed? David had been so tired he hadn't even heard him.

"Spock?" David murmurs again, having gotten no response to his first try at gaining the Vulcan's attention and some answers. Confused, he doesn't dare turn on the bedside lamp, knowing better than to wake his Dad, who seems to be asleep. Instead, he walks right up to Spock's side and looks up at the Vulcan in the dark, his eyes finally adjusting. However, what he sees is kind of scary and he blinks, taking an involuntary step back. Spock isn't... doing anything. He's just standing there, looking down at David's dad with a blank look on his face. A look which would be normal if it wasn't for the look in Spock's eyes, which finally turn with a slow blink to look down at David, who purses his lips, fear beginning to prickle at the hairs along the base of his neck. Whatever had Spock looking shaken couldn't be good, not if it had gotten through Spock's emotional controls.

"What's wrong?" David's eyes immediately flit to his father in the bed, who hadn't moved an inch since Spock had placed him there, his head turned away against the pillows. But then again, _why_ had Spock been carrying his Dad to bed?

As if shaking himself from a daze, Spock sucks in a breath and David is reminded of how, just hours ago really, they had both been so frantic and... scared. Spock looks scared again, but before David can ask him about it more clearly, the Vulcan's expression closes down to stone and David swallows the words before they leave his lips. This was bad... this had to bad.

"David, wait for me in the hall." Another order, but this one David doesn't like one bit and he stands firm, reaching out to wind an arm around one of the bed posts beside him.

"Why?" He questions, feeling small as the towering Vulcan passes by him, sudden sounds causing David to turn about and witness the Vulcan shoving some of David's things back into his bag where they had fallen out. "Hey, why are you-"

Before David can muster a full sentence, Spock straightens up and slings David's bag over his shoulder, sharply turning and fitting his hand around David's shoulder and all but forcing him to move toward the bedroom door. It almost causes David to protest at how he is being man-handled; his fear growing in his stomach and twisting his insides like icy fingers. "Spock-"

Spock doesn't say a word, which only serves to make David's heart beat faster in his chest, his hands turning cold and clammy. He wipes them against his shirt, eyes wide as he's all but propelled from the room with Spock at his back, pushing and directing until they're both out in the hallway.

Before David can protest again, Spock turns and firmly shuts the bedroom door behind them and to David's dismay, he realizes that he isn't going to be allowed to stay in there with his father, not if Spock is also removing his belongings. Out here in the hallway he feels a little better about raising his voice, figuring his dad wouldn't hear him, "Hey! What are you doing? Why can't I stay?" He asks, storming after Spock as the Vulcan continues down the hall.

Hating being ignored, David reaches up as high as he can and grasps the back of Spock's shirt, desperate for answers and letting his weight hang to slow the Vulcan down. An uncharacteristic huff from Spock makes David flinch, because Spock had never sounded so annoyed with him and he shies a step back, wringing his hands together as Spock finally turns to address him as he lets David's bag fall to the floor. David can tell he’s just forced Spock's hand, which he hated doing; David could always tell when he had pushed his dad's buttons a little too far and gotten a verbal reprimand for it. He braces himself, brows screwed up tight and lips pursed, hating how this reprimand will probably sting just as bad as his father's stern admonishments always did. Only... his dad hadn't gotten after him like that in a really long time. Not since... not since Spock had been away. Things were supposed to be better now, they had always been better with Spock around. Dad wasn't always so tired and unhappy.

"David..." Braced for a loud rebuke, or maybe a thorough tongue lashing... David is surprised when instead, Spock's shoulders seem to lower and he drops his head, his face hidden in shadow in the dim living room. Slowly, Spock bends down to meet David eye-to-eye, the Vulcan's hands wrapping gently around David's elbows and drawing him in a step closer. Confused, David stays silent, even though he wants to cry, even beg maybe... because he'd been scared about his dad too.

"I cannot let you sleep in there with-" Spock's lips purse and David frowns, because why can’t he sleep in the same room as his dad? They'd only just _found_ him! Spock looks like he's chewed something unpleasant for a split second before he quiets the tick of an expression and David's knot of fear twists tighter in his stomach. If Spock is upset again too, something has to be wrong with Dad. More wrong than broken ribs and that really bad wound David had seen before Spock had sent him away for a bath.

"I cannot allow you to be in the room with him while he sleeps, not until he is...more recovered." Spock continues, trying for convincing but only ending up sounding tired and weighed down.

Biting his lip, David suppresses the old childish urge to stamp his foot; he hasn’t done that since he was six... and he is a grown up boy now, and grown up boys learned how to talk the answers out of the adults. Spock had always allowed him his questions, so David delivers one now, filled with longing and confusion, "But why? He's just sleeping, and I'll be really, _really_ quiet. I promise!" He adds for good measure, because maybe he'd been making noises in his sleep and if he just tries really hard to be super quiet, Spock will let him stay.

"No, David, it is not that," Spock interrupts just before David can think on how to make his promise sound more sincere, the Vulcan shaking his head, slanted brows furrowed in a deep frown, "I just think... it would be better if you remained out here until morning. Once I...ascertain the condition your father is in when he wakes, you may spend time with him."

This deal didn't sound so hot; not only would David have to sleep out here, alone to boot; but he wouldn't get to be around his dad until he woke up! When Dad was allowed to sleep in on his days off, he sometimes slept until nine! "But I just want to be by Dad..." David argues, hating how whiny he sounds and how his eyes sting. Why is Spock making him sleep out here?

"I know you do David," Spock placates, attempting to soothe, but David pulls away, his nervous energy moving his fingers as they twist in the hem of his t-shirt, tugging and misshaping it. "But I believe you would be safer-"

"I'm safer with you and Dad!" David interjects, his face flashing hot and his vision blurring. Big boys didn't cry, and David is a big boy... but he just wants his dad. Doesn’t Spock see that? He just wants to be by Dad!

"David-" Spock begins, and David can already see the regret in the Vulcan's eyes and the exhaustion again, dragging the corners of his eyes down and turning his lips into a disappointed tilt. But David doesn't hear the rest of what he says, because just the thought of being kept from Dad is making him panic. Why is Spock doing this? David doesn’t understand it, they had been looking for Dad all this time and now that they have found him and are taking care of him, all David wants is to be able to see his dad and really make _sure_ that he is there! He doesn’t want Dad to go again.

"I want to be with Dad!" David sobs and sags against Spock's frame as the Vulcan leans forward and opens his arms, scooping David up off the floor and bringing him to his chest. David let his arms hang over Spock's shoulders, turning his face into the Vulcan's neck, too distraught to be embarrassed for losing it like he'd promised himself he wouldn't. Distantly, through his tears, he's aware that Spock is carrying him across the room but he only cries harder when he realizes it isn't back toward Dad's room.

"It will be the morning before you are even aware of it, David," Spock reasons calmly. David grips the back of Spock's shirt in his hands, wiping his face against the material along the Vulcan's shoulder and clinging when Spock attempts to put him down.

"No!" He gasps, suddenly afraid of Spock leaving him, too. He doesn’t want to be left out here, in this big house, all by himself! This isn’t his room, this isn’t his home and he is scared, because he doesn’t understand why Spock won’t let him be near Dad.

"David," Spock grunts as the child clings desperately to his shirt and shoulders, turning to sit down on the sectional sofa in the main living room with David across his lap and chest. "I will be right near by and I'll be able to hear you. I'll be awake and if you need anything I will be available," Spock attempts, making David these promises as his hands travel up and down David's back, trying to ease him out of his sobbing. David fights it, because how will Spock know he's still upset if he stops crying? If he stops crying, Spock will just leave him out here. But the longer he sobs, the more worn out he feels and when Spock cups a hand to the back of his sweat-damp neck, David shivers at the coolness of the Vulcan's skin and feels a sudden pervasive calmness. He doesn't know enough about Vulcan telepathy to know if this is because of Spock, but suddenly things don't seem so bad anymore and he's so tired... so very tired.

With a heavy, wet blink, David lifts his head up off of Spock's shoulder, his cheek sticking to the Vulcan's shirt which has been soaked through with his tears. Leaning back, he reaches up to rub his eyes, which hurt now and he sniffles, his nose runny. Too tired to protest the movement, he doesn't bother complaining when Spock shifts forward, a hand cradled to the back of David's head as the Vulcan leans across to the oriental coffee table before them and extracts a tissue, bringing it toward David's face. Leaning in, David presses his nose into the material and blows, hands still too busy rubbing idly at his eyes to take the tissue for himself, and he looks away sheepishly at Spock's raised brow at his behavior as the Vulcan crumples the tissue in his hand to discard later.

"Worn yourself out?" Spock asks softly, and rather than be triggered into another bout of sobs, David just nods sullenly, lashes all clumped wetly together and cheeks and eyes red from his effort. "Are you ready to rest now?"

Licking his lips, David coughs, his throat dry. "What if I just lay out in the hall?" He tries again, hoping maybe Spock will bargain, but before he's even argued his point, Spock is shaking his head. David's expression threatens more tears, but before they can fall another wave of calm and gentle comfort flows into him through Spock's fingertips where they rest against his tear swollen face.

"But why...?" He sniffs instead, watery blue eyes both uncomprehending and pleading as they peer up at Spock's face; the Vulcan shifts to get back up onto his feet again, David perched against his hip.

"Because I am telling you that you cannot, and I want you to listen to me and obey me. Your father and I are not going anywhere and this house is empty and secured from the inside on all doors and windows. We are safe." Spock's words sound strangely hollow toward the end, although David doesn't know why they would be because he knew they were all by themselves in this house. Also, Spock has that phaser...if anything did try to get in, Spock would kill it. _Zap! Zap!_

His apprehension is chased away by another faint brush of Spock's fingers through his hair, another flutter of calm, this time laced with an affection that makes David drop his head back onto Spock's damp shoulder. He curls himself into the Vulcan as they emerge into the big kitchen David had glimpsed earlier. Spock finds a short glass in a cupboard and fills it with water from the tap, handing it off to David and holding him as the child drinks it down and soothes his parched throat. David hands the empty glass back to Spock meekly, allowing himself to be carted all the way back into the living room where, this time, he lets go as Spock shifts his weight and leans down to deposit him on his back along the sectional sofa.

In a small way, David is a little impressed with how easily Spock carries him, because it'd been a whole year since his dad had started grunting with effort every time he'd gone to lift David up. Had Dad just been exaggerating how heavy David was, or was Spock just really that strong? It makes David feel a little safer as Spock brings his bag to rest beside the sofa and tugs another throw blanket off the back of the sofa, draping it over David and efficiently tucking the edges in around his body as he liked. When Spock lifts his feet to tuck the remainder of the blanket beneath them, David struggles to free one hand from the cocoon Spock has swaddled him in to reach out and catch the Vulcan's wrist before he can turn away.

Maybe it's the affection he somehow feels Spock was showing him, or maybe it is because he is so tired now and exhausted, but David leans up and reaches his arm out toward Spock's neck, waiting for the Vulcan to lean down. When he does, David wraps him in a one-armed embrace, murmuring a soft, "M'sorry..." Because he'd yelled at Spock, and he really shouldn't have ever yelled at Spock.

"You are forgiven," Spock murmurs, his voice warm and comforting, easing the rest of David's fear as he lets go and rests back against the sofa again, worming his arms back under his tight blanket. Just as Spock is turning away, David is panicked by the sight of his retreating back and desperately gasps out:

"What if I can't sleep?" When Spock turns back around, David looks guiltily away, because Dad had always called this stalling. He is so tired, he’ll pass out and he knows it, but his head is still crowded with confusion. He still didn’t know what was wrong with Dad.

Sliding down onto the carpet on his knees, Spock leans over David's small frame, one arm braced over him along the cushions while the other hand comes up to brush David's sweaty hair back off his forehead. "You will, because you should not fear and you are safe out here. I shall check on you often, if it will make you feel better."

Reluctantly, David nods and when Spock's hand comes to settle against his brow, cupping the crown of his head, David's eyelids are already drooping. Maybe Spock was right and he'd be fine... "Thanks, Spock." He whispers, letting the lids close over his aching eyes, a slight flicker of satisfaction curling through him before it's gone and then Spock's warm hand disappears too. He wants to open his eyes, watch Spock go, make sure that Spock looks back at him and is watching him too, but he can't pry his eyes open and before he can even consider how scary it is out here...and quiet, David drops off into dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr [cuddlesjohn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuddlesjohn) or over my email **madkatter1000@gmail.com**. Thank you for the feedback guys!


	19. House Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue our epoch in a long awaited update with Spock and David finally having caught up to Jim in a tiny coastal town in the state of Oregon, a place shrouded in fog and dreary weather at this time of year, only lending a hand to the tense atmosphere our three boys construct with a parasite like T'Mal inhabiting Jim's consciousness and very life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, of those returning and those who have newly discovered this fanfic.  
> It's been a long time since I updated this fiction, but it is still near and dear to me. Unfortunately my drive is being split between writing, work, and school---so my updates will still be uncommonly slow. But, I wanted to post an update for everyone and myself before I started my first semester at community college. I hope it is appreciated and loved as much as I've loved putting it together. Also, as always, a great thanks to [NWKate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NWKate/pseuds/NWKate) and her unfailing support and patience in helping me edit and process each chapter. Thank you very much, for the love and support and comments, they have been so gracious! 
> 
> If you would like a song to listen to while reading this chapter, I've grown greatly attached to quite a few in the interim, but especially recommend [_'Human'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3wKzyIN1yk) by **Rag'n'Bone Man** and [_'Madness'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnSkt6V3qF0) by **Ruelle**. [_'Bad Dream'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NmX5vcNK6E) also by **Ruelle, and[ _'Against the Sun'_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLukRvKWBeA) by **Rookit ft. Anna Yvette** are also very similar to the feelings I had writing this updated chapter.**
> 
> **Let me know what you think guys! Thank you very much, with love.**

Spock stares at the phaser locked in his grasp, one hand over the muzzle, the other over the handle, the safety engaged. He'd started this wild chase across the West Coast with the thoughts of danger, with the fear that he might need a weapon such as this to protect David and himself from any harm or resistance keeping them from Jim. But now, rather than safety it was a source of considerable consternation for Spock.

It's a tool, one meant to stun or kill, all-in-all a harbinger of pain he had vowed only ever to use to protect. He could still remember ransacking their bedroom back home in San Francisco, in a hurry to grab whatever he and David might need and coming across the phaser in the drawer at the bedside. He'd stared at it only a second, before he had shoved it into the waistband of his trousers. It had been a reassuring weight as they ran from the people who stalked them; a reassurance to Spock that if nothing else, he still had his training to fall back on, he still had a bold sense of skill and gall along with a steadfast sense of justice and righteousness to keep David safe. To take Jim back by force, if he had to.

However, with the events of the night before still fresh and throbbing like a wound in his head, he wasn't so sure. What had he thought he could accomplish with a weapon? Kill every person in their path separating him from his bond-mate? Track down every corrupt leader within Starfleet, even as far and wide as the Federation itself, to get his mate back from the hands of the evil that had taken him? The evil that had taken him still had him, in fact could control him, and yet to shoot that evil would be to shoot the one he knew all too well, one he could never harm. In his dreams, as he and David had driven across state lines and eaten up the miles in stolen cars, he had imagined the terrible, utterly horrifying level of satisfaction he would gain in catching up to Jim, and the abductor he believed was Professor T'Mal at the time. He had comforted himself with the promise that he would shoot her, if not to kill, at least to wound, so that he might subdue her and bring her back to Starfleet Command; in one piece, or at least in a recognizable state so she might be prosecuted for her transgressions.

Turning the phaser over in his hands, Spock feels sick at the thought now, because the Professor wasn't a separate entity any longer, but rather a parasite living off the flesh and blood of his very own bond-mate. It's the twisted image of a phaser beam boring out the center of Jim's head, right between his clear blue eyes, that has Spock dropping the phaser onto the counter top in the kitchen with a flinch. He couldn't kill her now, couldn't even injure her, because now her pain was Jim's. Vulcan fingers turn to fists as Spock clenches them tightly at his sides, turning away from the only plan he had been capable of forming over the past week and staring out through the large picture window across from the kitchen. Past the deck and the feathered, fog wreathed tops of evergreens he could see the twisting snake of the catching slough way down from where the house perched, clinging to the rock and dirt like a rat on the back of it's mother.

Reaching up, he absently fingers the aching marks on his neck, the bruised green and yellow spots left by his lover's hand, using his enemy's strength. In the days that followed their entrapment with T'Mal, Spock had endeavored to keep David out of the loop, had tried to keep the child separate from his father as long as he could, but even Jim...when he was only himself, wasn't entirely privy to the conversation Spock had suffered with T'Mal in the dead of night. When Spock had gone back into the house behind the professor, he had been panicked by the thought that she might attack David as she had threatened, but instead, he had found the body of his bond-mate crumpled on the floor, apparently spent from the struggle of two minds caged in a single body warring for dominance.

Quelling his fear, Spock had placed Jim back into bed, and at a loss of what he might do, had simply gathered David up in his blankets and taken him to the farthest room in the house he could find. Even if this home was unknown to him, with all the doors and windows locked, Spock felt safer having David out of earshot than he did having him within close range to Jim and the diabolical woman in his mind. Sitting on the floor outside JIm's bedroom door, Spock had attempted to meditate, but T'Mal's threats kept his efforts shallow and only marginally useful. He was only slightly calmer when he opened his eyes next to see the creep of dawn paled by heavy cloud cover crawling across the tiled floor down the hall. _Kroykah_ , it was enough... he could not cower any longer, for all he knew it was simply Jim asleep in the room behind him. Perhaps, if he were lucky, she grew tired and surrendered herself to Jim's waking mind.

To both David and Spock's worry, Jim had slept for two full days after their confrontation, and in the absence of their consciousness, Spock had tried to come up with a plan. He had scoured the house, opening every cupboard and every drawer, ransacking the bathrooms in hopes of finding something that might keep Jim and the Professor asleep even longer, but to no avail. The house was obviously barely lived in, and probably furnished by someone else entirely. There was only bath tissue and a packet of replacement bulbs for the light fixtures. The kitchen was stocked for full vegetarian living, and yet everything had a fine layer of dust on it, and Spock later had the distinct impression that perhaps this place had been what Jim had so hurried called on occasion 'plan B'.

It also did not take David too long to realize what Spock was doing by keeping him separated from his father, and by the end of day three, they both witnessed a meltdown of all meltdowns. Spock had been checking on Jim in the doorway of the bedroom, the door opened only a crack, when David had come running down the hallway, having realized that Spock's absence from the dining room could only mean one thing. He ran smack into Spock's back as the Vulcan had begun to turn to intercept him and before he could get the bedroom door closed, David had yanked his hand on the handle and forced his way in. "I want to see," he had grunted with a child's great effort, "my Dad!" Huffing and puffing, he had scrambled into the room, nearly falling to the carpet. Spock made a grab for him, but David darted around the end of the bed, breathing loudly and yelling with no regard to the sleeping individual on the bed.

"David!" Spock hissed in the tersest tone he could muster, the commanding nature of a Captain coming through in his rasping voice, placing a finger to his lips in the universal sign of 'put up, or shut up'. David was in no frame of mind to obey however, and simply grew louder.

"No! Don't shush me! Dad's been in here for days and you won't let me see him again! Keeping me busy isn't going to make me forget about it Spock, Dad was on the run for days! I missed him just as much as you did! You can't have him all to yourself, he's mine too!" Having placed the bed between himself and Spock, David glanced at the relaxed features of his father nestled in the pillows, only then beginning to stir from the noise around him.

Spock caught his breath, a wary sort of mistrust and fear pooling in his guts and simply dropping out into his feet with horror as David, seeming to make up his mind, dragged himself up onto the bed by the sheets and knelt by his father, reaching down to shake his bare shoulder.

"Dad! Tell him to let me stay with you, tell him you're fine with it, c'mon! Please!" Tears welled in his young blue eyes and Spock's heart wrenched, filled with the growing desire to hear Jim's voice as well as David continued to shake his father until matching blue eyes squinted open. But Spock did not need to be a master at reading body language to realize that the entity in control this evening isn't his bond-mate. However, something more alarming unfolded as the interloper in Jim's body seemed to appraise the situation rather quickly, and with a glance over at Spock as the Vulcan reached for David, freed an arm from beneath the sheets to push David back out of Spock's grasp.

"He's fine... let'm stay." The voice was groggy, the syntax convincingly like Jim's, but the blankness behind his eyes was not Spock's bond-mate's, no matter how simply she his part. It was chilling to watch as the Professor tricked Jim's son into believing she was actually James, using his voice and manner of speaking to address their son and soothing him in the same familiar manner. Tears are wiped and hair is ruffled, and as David laid his head on his father's shoulder, Spock felt close to being very ill, finding it a monumental effort to conceal that feeling as he straightened and folded his hands together behind his back, fingers squeezing with the amount of restraint it took him not to rip David away from T'Mal's deceit and lock him safely away. "Sorry I've been sleepin' so long, buddy... healing my injuries is takin' a lot out of me." The sloppy way T'Mal pushed Jim's voice to mimic his old Iowan accent made Spock visibly wince, because he hadn't spoken like that in a long time, and in a way, it almost felt like she was mocking him with it, speaking in a way that made Jim seem simple. No matter her own perceived genius, a man like Jim must seem simple to her, and yet the insult would mean nothing to James when he cannot hear it himself. It was an insult for Spock.

"Why don't you go and get those magic cards you've been practicin' with, hm? Show me what you've got," she had suggested, and it was the planting of that seed that had Spock gritting his teeth, because he did not like how easily she could dip into David's head to pluck that bit of information free, for what else could she use of the child's memories to further manipulate him? Spock hadn't even felt it across his bond with David.

Reluctantly, David pulled way, but only after making Spock promise not to bar him from his father again, to which Spock reluctantly agreed, with an unyielding stare from the Professor on the bed behind him. As David's bright head disappeared down the hallway, T'Mal dropped the facade and the insulting syntax of Iowan drawl from Jim's voice. "I only threatened to hurt the child if you did not allow me to finish my work here. For now, both of your compliance is more valuable to me, for it will keep James Kirk calm and from fighting me."

Spock's lips twitched toward a snarl but he did not allow her the satisfaction of unstabilizing him to such a degree. Instead, he turned a chillingly distant eye on his bond-mate, addressing the parasite within him, "I bid you to drop the insulting way you arrange your words toward him, he may be too young to realize you are doing it, but I do not wish for David to find any fault in his father. Regardless of his wishes, I will not be leaving the two of you alone, and if you reach into his mind again, I will not stand here and allow you to do it."

Jim's lips flickered in a coy expression he'd been known to make and Spock found himself experiencing revulsion, realizing it's T'Mal's way of using his bond-mate to tease him. "I find it amusing that you think idle threats without any assurance of follow through are of any use against me. You would not harm your bond-mate, and you most certainly will not harm a hair on that child, so let us cease bluffing. These three bodies mean nothing to me, mean nothing in face of the greater cause. I am simply using the three of you, I had thought you intelligent enough to know the stakes you have, and the control you lack. Perhaps it is your muddied blood that hampers you, or maybe it is the sight and sound of your bond-mate rebuking you... in any case, I do not care."

Spock had little chance to make a rebuttal before David ran back into the room, clamoring on top of the bed with his cards, looking as ready as ever to entertain his father with magic tricks. Spock's only solace was knowing that such a pass time would be absolutely mind-numbing to T'Mal, and so he sat at the edge of the bed, his only revenge on the woman his more than pleased ability to encourage David to continue with his magic show for as long as he possibly might.

 

"Spock?" The voice is timid. David is trying to receive his attention, and the Vulcan's dark eyes are drawn away from the view out the window toward the child standing at his hip, his own gaze directed toward the phaser left abandoned on the kitchen counter.

After chastising himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings and hearing David's approach, Spock picks up the weapon and checks the safety one last time before placing it in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back again. David watches with solemn attention, no longer wondering why Spock remained armed inside the home when it was simply himself, David, and Jim present. It had become increasingly apparent to David that his father was no longer himself once the Professor, gaining some of her strength back after allowing Jim’s body to convalesce for a few days, took to holing herself up in the office off the master bedroom for hours upon hours while not permitting anyone to enter.

It was the condition of the person who came out of that office that was beginning to worry Spock, when after spending nearly eighteen hours locked in there Jim emerged dehydrated and starved, staggering into the master bedroom and collapsing into bed, sleeping for nearly ten hours. It wasn't healthy, and Spock was beginning to realize that regardless of T'Mal's plans, Jim wasn't a factor in them in the least, and whether she wore out her vessel before or after the completion of her project did not seem to weigh on her mind in the least. David wasn't stupid, and he had eyes to see the growing concern in his Vulcan Sa-mekh's face as the days wore on.

"How long has Dad been asleep for?" David's quip causes Spock to turn his head toward the chronometer on the wall over the kitchen cabinets.

"Nine hours and fifteen minutes," he replies, turning toward his open computer system he had left on the counter beside him, having been attempting to create an encrypted message he might send to Dr. McCoy, but finding the task tedious without any verified internet connection. He could search one out, piggy-back his signal onto the nearest paying customer or provider and boost the signal with a special program. However, having known the kind of capabilities Starfleet's systems had acquired, he was also aware of what they could potentially intercept and he was nervous about inadvertently exposing their location to the authorities looking for them.

He needed more time, it was as simple as that, but with their situation and rate of Jim’s deterioration, he wasn't sure he had enough time at all.

"Let's go wake him up...he's gotta be hungry, right?" David comments, leaning on logic rather than his own fears. It hadn't taken T'Mal much time to grow tired of her facade with David, and she had eventually stopped trying at all, rebuffing David's attempts at conversation with stagnant silence whenever she was outside the bedroom. He had stopped running to her, realizing by Spock's watchful eye and Jim's cold shoulder, that his father wasn't whom he had thought any longer. It had taken Spock an entire evening, with the ragged sounds of Klingon muttering and occasional bangs and scratches from the closed office door near by, to explain to David what had most-likely occurred.

"Wait," he had stared up at Spock with the most horrific of expressions the Vulcan had seen to date, "so...that isn't even Dad?"

Spock could see the panic rising, and so in order to stem the tide and leave behind the chances that JIm's hearing had improved since acquiring a Vulcan mind in his own, he had taken David out onto the deck in the chilly evening air, a mist and fog creeping up over the edge of the hill just like their first night, licking at the wood steps. "Listen carefully to me, David," Spock had crouched down, taken David by the wrists and made the boy’s wide eyes meet his own, pulling him in close so he could speak softly as he explained, "Your father is still there, he can still speak to you, as he did when we arrived here. But when he is in that office, when he does not speak to you or look at you, that is not your father. The individual you are met with when he behaves that way is named Professor T'Mal, and she was a Vulcan who transferred her mind into your father's." It had been a long shot getting David to comprehend the meaning of a katra, the very essence of a Vulcan. At least until Spock hit upon the familiar term 'soul', upon which David seemed to understand, with the same measure of horror, what was happening to his father.

"So Dad's...possessed by a...ghost?" Regardless of the wording, Spock had conceded, and watched David descend into hopelessness. "What are we gonna do, Spock? How do we get her out of him?"

It was a problem Spock had been considering for days before that conversation, and every waking moment since. From then on, David had been more cautious when approaching James; something that deeply wounded Spock to witness, knowing that if they all got out of this alive and intact, Jim would have a great deal of trust to re-build with his own son again. For now, however, there was nothing Spock could do to dissuade the behavior, and in a way it was helping to protect David further.

Now, standing in the kitchen with a phaser he knows he'll never use tucked into his jeans, and encrypting the entry to his computer system behind himself, Spock sets a hand to David's shoulder and walks with him from the kitchen. Early that morning, T'Mal had dragged herself from the office to collapse onto the master bed. On their way down the hallway, Spock stops a moment to gaze over the closed office door, looking over the dual-shock locking system on the door. He can follow a grain in the wood up to above the door jam and down toward the carpet, knowing they are embedded sensors and also familiar enough with the illegal system to know that any attempt to overload the digital or electrical working mechanisms will only cause the bolt locks to seize and a poisonous chemical fog to release and kill the attempted robber. It wouldn't be illegal if it had a warning signature on it in regards to its danger; but with a casing that looked like any digital keypad entry lock, it was a wolf in sheep's skin. 

"C'mon," looking down, David slides his hand into Spock's and pulls him toward the closed bedroom door down the hall, a jolt of mental turmoil assailing Spock's shields from the contact. David is scared, but also sad for being scared, and ashamed of his unease. Spock squeezes his fingers gently around David's own before they part and Spock cracks the door open.

The room is dark, the shades drawn, and when Spock glances toward the bed, he sees a lump under the sheets, the blankets pulled up over Jim's head. Tentatively, David steps toward the bed but Spock holds him back with a look, rounding the bed frame and sliding his fingertips under the edge of the sheet and pulling it back enough to gaze down through the dull grey light of the room at his bond-mates face. A rush of memory comes with the view, of that mouth smiling and laughing, eyes amused and full of affection, expression morphing through a wide range of expressions all passionate and beautiful and empowered. Pursing his lips, Spock pushes down a sense of loneliness and sorrow. Jim wasn't dead, and continuing to think about him in such a way only made it seem like he was.

"Dad?" David bumps the bed, shoving at the mattress a little, having lost the desire to shake his father when he had realized it caused some pain to Jim's healing wounds.

There comes a long breath from the occupant of the bed, and slowly Jim turns over onto his back, seeming groggy and reaching up to rub his hands over his face. T'Mal had worked through the night, and if a pattern truly was emerging, Spock was beginning to believe she was the weakest after such excursions. If his hypothesis was correct, he was hoping they could reach Jim in these hours while she rested.

"Mnn..." A groan from Jim has Spock's shoulders relaxing a little, catching a glance from David over the prone form in the bed. He gives a slight nod, and David's tense features relax as well before the boy is crawling up onto the edge of the bed, folding his arms over his chest to match Spock's own stance. When blue eyes crack open to blink in the darkness, adjusting to the gloom, Jim takes in the two sentinels beside his bed and cracks a weary half smile. "What's going on...Spanish inquisition?"

"What's that?" David inquires.

"Read your history lesson, son…," Jim mutters, sliding his hands up over his face, the rasping sound of his palms chafing the growth on his cheeks dispelling the last of Spock's wariness. Slowly, he sits on the bed opposite David, this only being their third encounter with James since arriving a week ago. He wondered if Jim was aware of the passage of time while he was otherwise out of control of his own body.

"Are you hungry?" David asks, "Spock made me a sandwich earlier, I could probably make one too." His eyes meet Spock's over Jim, and across their familial bond, Spock can feel David's sense of unease again. He wasn't confident in this situation any longer, wasn't used to seeing his father in such a state and wasn't used to knowing something terrible resided inside his father, unsure of when it could lash out or otherwise hurt or ignore him. It wasn't something Spock had said in so many words, but with an upbringing such as his own, David could sense when things were tense, and he could also take cues from Spock, regardless of the Vulcan's shielding and emotional control. When Spock went on the defense, the bond picked up on it, and Spock had watched David slowly become more dependent on permissions and safety checks from Spock over the last few weeks. Unfortunately that hadn't changed with the recovery of Jim.

"Sure, son...I could eat," Jim sighs, a sound full of bone-deep weariness, causing Spock to cast a critical eye over his bond-mate. He was losing some mass with how infrequently he ate, which was something T'Mal only did sparingly and when she found it absolutely necessary. He also seemed haggard, almost haunted, by the look of the circles under his eyes and judging by the way he turned fleeting glances over toward Spock. They hadn't had a chance to talk much in private since Spock's arrival, T'Mal aside, and whether Jim was aware of who was a part of him or not, neither men had broached the subject. With David otherwise preoccupied, having wandered back down the hall toward the kitchen, Spock makes an offer.

"Would you like to bathe?" Spock can see something of interest in his bond-mate at the suggestion, brows rising and although he has their bond carefully walled off, he gets an old sense of smugness from his mate. Of course Jim would enjoy taking the offer as a proposition for coitus, even laid up in bed recovering from several shrapnel wounds. Spock withholds a roll of his eyes, walking into the attending bathroom to plug the drain in the bath tub, turning on the taps and adjusting the water temperature. The bed springs creak in the other room and before long, Jim fills the bathroom doorway clad in only a pair of boxer briefs. Spock doesn't let his gaze linger, not wishing to invite anything from his ailing mate. Straightening up, he tries to move past Jim, figuring he ought to leave his mate to the task, but Jim grasps his arm before he can get far, his grasp not unsurprisingly rather weak as he tries to hold his Vulcan mate back.

"Would you mind...helping me out?" Jim asks, a sliver of embarrassment evident in his expression and Spock cannot deny a direct request, not with such an expression, and so he nods and follows Jim back into the bathroom to steady him as he shuffles his briefs off and gingerly steps into the filling tub. The affection that would have been present between them in this sort of situation is lacking, and Spock knows it is because he has muted their connection, has kept himself carefully distant. So when Jim pats the wide edge of the tub for him to sit and stay by him as he relaxes into the water, Spock obliges with some reluctance. If this were any other moment, any other universe or change of fates, he would have joined Jim in the water easily, without a second thought. But the Vulcan woman housed within his bond-mate gives him pause.

Jim hisses with discomfort when the water rises over his wounds, splashing water on his face and working to grow used to the heat and sting. The silence between them stretches on, and Spock becomes aware of David's continued absence. It hardly took this long to make a sandwich, meaning the boy was most-likely taking longer on purpose, hoping that perhaps Spock could make his father like he used to be, before this entire mess began. He wasn't sure he was capable of such an action, but he did have a few of his own curiosities to settle.

"James-," he begins, only to be cut off by a hard, long stare from his bond-mate. For a chilling moment, he's almost convinced that he is no longer in the company of Jim at all, but then blue eyes slip shut and a long, ragged sigh leaves Jim in a rush.

"How much has she said to you...?"

Spock's shoulders ease a little at the question, because of course Jim would realize what had happened, once he realized he was missing parts of his memory, hours of his life he had no recollection of the periods while T'Mal was controlling him. Apart from awareness, Spock wondered how privy Jim was to T'mal's plans and just what she did in that office neither Spock nor David could have any hope of getting into. "Not...much." There must be something terse in Spock's expression, because Jim's clouds over with anger, and he sits up straighter in the tub, reaching a wet hand up to grasp Spock's wrist, tugging him a little closer, the gravity of the situation clipping his words.

"She's threatened you, hasn't she? I know she didn't give a shit about either of you. You," he points a finger from the five folded around Spock's arm at the Vulcan, "you were her real target...but when she realized you would be a harder win, she turned her sights on me. I guess she was hoping upon meeting you that she would find you more vengeful and mean-spirited toward those responsible for the destruction of your home world."

Blinking, Spock considers this new piece of information about the enigmatic Vulcan woman before he catches himself drifting, realizing that he'd been dropping his guard, relaxing into the reassuring presence of his bond-mate without realizing it. Gently, he tugs his wrist away from Jim's grasp, watching a shade of regret pull down over blue eyes at the action, making him immediately regret it, himself, painfully aware of the fissure that was opening up between them at this separation and inherent mistrust. "I...apologize-"

"No! I... I understand," Jim murmurs, shaking his head, sliding his hands back down into the water and looking away. "I can only imagine the shit she said to you...last night, when she started interrogating you, I could feel you close, I could feel your fear and sadness. I-...I tried to do something, but it's like my body won't listen. When she takes over," pressing his fingertips into his eyes, Jim groans, frustration leaking into his voice, "it's like I'm a third party viewing a shitty video game, or nothing at all...just black. That's what it's been lately, anyway."

"You are not aware of what she does when she awakens?" Spock asks, the sudden hope he had cultivated at Jim's waking ebbing away, even before Jim shakes his head in a negative.

"No, I'm not. It's the worst. I've never been so bored in my life, and helpless Spock. I've shouted and kicked and screamed, I've done everything I could possibly imagine to keep her at bay or force her back. But if I know one thing, it's that I've never been any match for a Vulcan."

"Have you tried focusing your thoughts? Perhaps if you push in a more focused direction or place all your energy into taking back the functions of your body, you could keep her subdued," Spock suggests, stretching out to turn the taps off, drips of water plinking back into the smooth surface of the tub.

"That works for a short while when I'm already in control. I found if I focus on my own memories and thoughts, keep my mind orderly and direct, she has more trouble taking me down. But when I'm chaotic and confused, or conflicted...she shuts me down like a damn light switch, Spock." Disgusted, Jim leans his head back, resting it against the lip of the tub and closing his eyes.

"Is she...attempting to now?"

"No." Shaking his head again, Jim frowns, the lids of his closed eyes bruised a soft purple in his weariness. "Right now, she's silent, blissfully so. What time is it?"

"Ten minutes past twelve in the afternoon."

"Christ, we were in there a long time last night...that's probably why. She shot all her energy last night and needs to charge up before taking me on again." Seeming listless, Jim lets himself simply sink into the water as far as he can comfortably, looking even weaker for the motion.

"Have you seen her use the code on the office door?" Spock tries, only to be met with another negative.

"I'm in the black way before then, it's pretty much seamless. I'll wake up, try to get out of bed, and have no control over my limbs. Like a puppet without strings attached. Pretty much by the time we reach the bedroom door, I'm blind."

Unconsciously chewing the corner of his lip, Spock puts aside that idea, deciding to ask more directly, "Do you know what she is building?"

After thinking for a moment, Jim shakes his head, "I've seen some of the schematics, when I was still working on it back in San Francisco, it seemed like a very large projectile. Something that could be fired from a photon torpedo tube, like a weapon, but the bio-chemistry was all wrong, so unless it was some old-school chemical warfare, I've no idea. I mean, I thought about it possibly being something that could-" A sharp wince contorts Jim's features, jerking his head around to the side with enough force for Spock to reach out and steady his shoulder, a jolt of shock sending chills throughout his body.

"Jim?" Spock's voice is urgent, worried and unguarded in a moment of fear for his bond-mate.

"Fuck!" Jim snaps, pressing his fingers into his temples and squeezing his eyes shut, "Christ, that's the worst...headache I've ever had." He grunts, his words slurred with pain.

Rising from the lip of the tub, Spock goes in search of his bag and the medical kit within, dragging out a nearly empty bottle of pain reliever. Tipping two gel tablets out into his hand, he takes them back into the bathroom with a bottle of water and hands them to Jim, assured that he takes them. He isn't certain because he had never seen any such reaction before, but Spock wouldn't be surprised if the pain was triggered by T'Mal herself. A fail-safe to keep Jim from talking about their work together with others. But that sort of mental control would have taken months to cultivate and several long-term melds. Spock would have noticed...wouldn't he have? The uncertainty is what has Spock's guts churning with nausea.

"She isn't fucking sane, Spock...she could be building a goddamn time bomb big enough to swallow the world for all we know. You said there's a lock on the office door?" Jim straightens up, a flicker of his old self crouching behind his eyes, like a man longing for something to conquer, longing to make a good fight.

"Yes, a dual-shock system. Any tampering and the system will lock down and emit a poisonous gas. All it takes is three wrong inputs of the code and it triggers the mechanism," Spock explains with a weariness pervading him he had been feeling since his and David's first night on the road from San Francisco. "I do not wish to harm either you or David, otherwise I would have begun work on it days ago. But it is too dangerous."

"Dammit..." Jim hisses, rubbing water into his eyes, making his lashes clump together when he opens them next. "You know, when she's weaker, sometimes I catch flashes of her memories, they sort of bleed into mine, you know?" He stares without seeing at the opposite wall, steam rising up off the surface of the bath water clouding his vision, curling around the faces of Vulcans he had never met. He can sense Spock's intrigue, but it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts and explain. 

"She had a bond-mate, Spock... one of the Vulcans that died in the destruction of your home world. There's always pain surrounding those memories, the snippets I've gotten of them, and I think that pain is what fuels her. I'm not one-hundred percent certain, but I think what drives her is some sort of hell-bent notion of revenge. On who, I don't know...the Romulans? I think if you're insane with sorrow enough, you can misconstrue the fault of the loss of Vulcan onto any one of the planets that had been involved. Hell, she might even blame the Klingons." Jim sighs.

"I have heard her speaking Klingon aloud at times, nothing meaningful enough for me to ascertain what she is up to behind closed doors, but I believe she is living under the assumption that I do not speak or understand Klingon, or at least not well," Spock interjects, drawing Jim's brows down into a frown with his words.

"If anything, the Klingons are the only species not involved in the downfall of Vulcan. The Federation had just as much a shoulder for blame. Either we weren't fast enough, weren't competent enough, not prepared enough... the list is endless to someone seeking to put someone at fault."

Spock opens his mouth to speak, about to tell Jim that he had been trying to send a communication to both Sarek and Dr. McCoy in the recent days, but what stops him is the sudden realization that just because she is not dominant, at the forefront of Jim's head...does not mean T'Mal is not listening to this very conversation. His mouth slowly closes, his lips pursing, absolutely hating how he cannot speak freely with his partner. Jim casts a curious glance over him, having witnessed the full-stop the Vulcan had put himself into mid-conversation, and then realization dawns and he nods.

"It's fine, Spock. I'd rather not know anything about how we're going to fix this...I don't want her to see it coming." Sliding a dripping hand back through his hair, he slicks it back off his forehead. It is lank with days of sweat and T'Mal's neglect to simple personal hygiene. "How's...David been?" He asks tentatively, as if he already knows with the heavy glance he casts up toward Spock's face. It's guilt ridden and Spock can't imagine telling Jim the truth in this case either, and yet he rebels at lying to his bond-mate. But is this a situation where telling Jim the truth would hurt him more than a lie would? At the conflict in brown eyes evident to blue, Jim waves a dismissive hand, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Like I can't guess... It's fine, I've won him over before...I can do it again." Even with the confident words leaving his lips, Spock cannot hear a single sliver of confidence in them to back them and he looks away, guilt creeping into his heart from holding back the truth.

"Will you do me a favor, please?"

Curious, Spock inclined his head, hopeful that it will be something he can promise to accomplish if it would ease Jim's mind.

"If things start to look bad... and I mean really bad, T'Mal destroys the world kind of bad... I want you to end it." The line of Jim's jaw hardens into steel as he speaks, the same bull-headedness he had always displayed during discussions and arguments comes forward full force and blue eyes, guarded from displaying the fear and turmoil and agony hidden deeply inside the man, look up to Spock with a sort of trust Spock feels unworthy of.

The request is logical, if their situations were reversed the Vulcan would arrive at the very same conclusion and request it be carried out in the same scenario. However, he had never been asked such a thing, had never been implored to end the life of his one and only, of his bond-mate and Ashayam, his T'hy'la. " _K'hat'n'dlawa, Taluhk nash-veh k'dular._ But I also know why you ask me to do this... for I cherish David as well." The tension in Jim's expression seems to smooth toward one of relief and Spock swallows down his conflicting emotions. He prays to whatever deity in whatever universe or reality may exist that their situation never arrives at such a perilous point. But for now, he watches Jim sit up in the water with a wince, his body still sore from the beating it had taken in the blast back home.

"Can you do me one last favor...?" Jim asks, this time in a softer voice, and Spock braces himself for another impossible task, but is somewhat surprised instead to find Jim setting a hand on the edge of the tub next to Spock's knee, his head tipped back to regard his taller mate towering over him from where he perches, "Could you..." he halts, at a loss and finding it hard to form words, dropping his eyes. There is no coyness, no groping fingers or wandering eyes when Jim tips his head, his face ducking out of view as he drops his voice into an even softer murmur as he makes his plea, "could you hold me...for a little bit? I just... I haven't seen or spoken to anyone until you guys showed up and... and I didn't know if you two were dead or alive and if I'd ever see you again and I just-" He bites the last of his words off at the stump, the fingers curled over the edge of the tub squeezing so tightly the knuckles turn white and Spock hears a soft _plink, plink..._ of moisture hitting the quiet surface of the water around Jim.

"Ashayam..." Spock breathes, trying not to sound alarmed at the emotion evident in Jim's voice and posture, all thoughts of a dangerous woman tucked into the back of his bond-mate's mind dashing his wariness aside in favor of his heart bleeding anew with agony for his mate as he surrenders to the desire he had had since seeing Jim. Sliding off the lip of the tub, Spock drops to his knees on the hard tile floor, the sound of it jarring enough to snap Jim's head up and Spock sees amongst the moisture of the bath warm trails of sorrow framing his beloved's cheeks. Spock reaches out to clear them with his fingertips, feeling his mate's shame evolve into relief and desperate, all-consuming love. A culmination of the terror and confusion they had both been through in separation devolving into Jim wrapped wet and shaking in Spock's arms, his face pressed into the Vulcan's neck and shoulder where he hides from the world for a little while, hides from the shock and horror of their situation, from the frustration and insanity and hatred.

They remain like that for a time, Spock kneeling at the side of the tub leaning low so he might keep his arms locked about the shoulders of his bond-mate, his cheek pressed into the dampness of Jim's water-darkened hair, feeling every breath he makes pass through the frame of his body, hot against Spock's collar. When the shaking ceases and Spock senses exhaustion creeping in, he slowly stands without releasing Jim back into the water, pulling him free of it until he stands on his own two feet, the two of them separated only by the porcelain of the tub. Jim gasps softly at the cool air assaulting his wet skin, but Spock reaches for a towel, wrapping it around his mate. His own clothes are completely soaked but are ignored as Spock helps Jim from the tub and pulls the plug.

Like a directionless child, Jim stands adrift in the center of the bathroom, his towel held loosely around himself, idly rubbing at wet patches of skin until Spock brings him a set of warm, dry clothes he had packed along with his own things. He hadn't brought much by way of Jim's things, never having thought he would need to supply Jim with everything and Spock is faced with the realization that he'll have to make a trip into town if he is to make Jim as comfortable as possible as he endeavors to figure out their situation while T'Mal works like a dog on whatever insanity she has going on in that office. It's a sickening thought, to leave Jim alone here, but he isn't convinced he'll be able to get Jim to leave with him. Something tells him doing so would be going back on his reluctant promise to the Professor not to interfere with her work. Taking Jim from the property would be so easy, to cart him off and take him off world if that were the case. However, if T'Mal could get her hands on an illegal dual-shock security locking system, there was no telling what other countermeasures she had had the time to put into place before trapping Jim here.

Who was to say that he and David were even allowed to leave, now that they had walked into the spider's web?

"Spock?" Sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders sagging with weariness, Jim catches his mate's attention from where he stands changing his clothes near his suitcase. Spock had taken everything but his clothes out of it, leaving nothing of value behind for T'mal to potentially take for her own, and in his changing of his sweater, Jim catches a glance of the gleaming metal of the phaser tucked into the back of Spock's jeans. However, he makes no comment but rather slaps his cheeks a few times, blinking in an exaggerated motion. "I'm tired but I don't want to go back to sleep. If i go back to sleep, the next time I wake, it'll probably be her again." Seeming tapped out, Spock finds it difficult to imagine that Jim will remain awake for very long, no matter his desires, and yet he nods.

"David should be finished concocting you a meal of his invention by this time," Spock offers, adjusting his sleeves and pushing them up his arms to just below his elbows. When Jim makes to stand, he's at his side in an instant, grasping his elbow.

"I should be fine, Spock... if she can make my body get all the way down the hall, I should be able to walk into the kitchen," Jim argues, but doesn't shake free of his companion, but rather leans into the touch as it slides up his back to rest along his shoulders, walking closely to his Vulcan on the way across the house. "Christ, this place is enormous…," he comments, looking up at the tall and overstated ceilings. "Why the hell did she need a place like this?"

"I cannot begin to hypothesize on the needs and values of a woman such as she." Spock remarks as they find David cutting up a banana into bite-sized slices with a butter knife at the counter. A sloppily made sandwich full of mostly lettuce with a few slices of tomato and vegetarian protein between two pieces of ravaged bread await Jim on a plate.

"Here Dad, sorry it isn't bacon," David says, pushing the plate toward his father as they enter, Jim still looking around and taking in all the appliances and cupboards, seemingly unused and brand new. Spock picks up the plate and pushes the mangled banana bits off the counter onto it beside the sandwich, rendering his hand sticky with banana goo. After settling at the dining table with his plate of food, Jim finally seems to take a look at what his son has crafted for him and cracks a small smile, and in his sincerest of voices, soft with weariness, he murmurs a 'thank you'.

Spock isn't far from him the entire time Jim is awake and eating, and although he doesn't consume much, it is enough for Spock to be satisfied that Jim is at least covered for a few hours worth of nutrition. David, however, seems to find his voice at last and begins to tell his father about the places they had been in their time on the road. The restaurants they had eaten at, the rest stops that had been dicey at best, and the places they had slept. "But we mostly slept in the cars we stole when hotels got to be expensive, and-"

Jim puts a piece of banana down to cut off his son's continued monologue, frowning at Spock, across the dining table from him on his computer, the screen protected from his mate's view before and behind Spock. "Stolen cars? Spock, you taught my son it is okay to steal cars?"

Spock glances up, first toward David, who seems to grow sheepish under his Vulcan Sa-mekh's gaze, then toward Jim for explanation. "Our son is fully aware that stealing cars is not positive behavior or legal. However, when our vehicle became conspicuous because of the news reports, we had little to no other options. David is fully aware of that...besides, the car you arrived in here was not the car you left San Francisco in, James...or did that escape your memory?"

David's lips purse in an expression of amusement, holding back a bark of laughter he has to bite his inner cheek to silence as Jim leans back in his chair, considering Spock with narrowed eyes for a time, arms folded across his chest. Finally, he breaks with a muttered, "Fair enough, I suppose..." Turning a sharp eye on his son, he levels a finger toward the boy's chest and affirms a lesson he hopes was taught in his absence. "Stealing cars isn't okay and if you steal one, I'll turn you in myself."

Young eyes swiftly clip toward Spock, but the Vulcan doesn't look up, knowing full well what David is thinking about. If Jim knew the whole truth of their exploits, he'd have already turned David in, considering he had helped with more than a few carjackings.

It's odd to feel this level of normalcy between the three of them, the conversation carefully steered away from touchy subjects, such as the mess they were all in. David, finding he had missed speaking to his father, talked for well over an hour as his father maintained attention, even as his eyelids began to droop against his own will. When David finally gets up for a drink of water to moisten his dry mouth, Spock rises and shuts his laptop down, the encryption system running in the background as he picks up Jim's plate and takes it to the sink.

"Thanks…," Jim murmurs sleepily, turning his eyes out through the big picture window to his right and the view below, darkened now with the first indications of evening. Seeming to sour with the view, Jim gets to his feet and shuffles out into the living room, dragging a knitted blanket off the back of a sofa to wrap it about himself, heading for the sliding door leading out onto the long deck. David watches him go, as does Spock, the two of them cleaning dishes together and putting them into the washing unit.

Both feeling a little protective, they walk together out onto the deck behind Jim a few minutes later, Spock unrolling his sleeves as David finds his father curled up in the corner of a wide, cushioned porch swing set between two of the house pillars. His thousand-yard stare seems to come to an end when he spies his son and mate however, and a tired smile transforms his expression toward one more familiar as he lifts the edge of his blanket in an invitation toward David. It pains Spock to notice a slight hesitation, but David doesn't look back at Spock for permission before he shuffles forward and drops down onto the swing beside his father, letting himself be snuggled in beneath the blanket into Jim's warm side. Spock takes a seat at the other end of the swing, his legs spread apart comfortably and stable enough to push the swing slowly back and forth in a soothing rocking motion. 

David rests his head on Jim's shoulder, but from beneath the edge of the blanket, his bare feet chilled by the damp deck wood, presses into Spock's leg, maintaining a connection with both his fathers in a long, stretching moment of silence that has Jim yawning and Spock staring out into the growing dark as the sun sets.

"David," Jim's voice cuts the silence, laced with exhaustion. When he has David's full attention, his hand resting curled around his son's shoulder beneath the knitted blanket, he says, "I want you to continue to listen to Spock for me, alright? I don't know how these next few days will go, and I don't want you to get hurt...alright? Promise me you'll do as Spock says."

There's only a short beat before agreement, and Spock reaches down to rest his warm hand over David's cold feet pressed against him, soothing the piqued worry in David's mind through skin-to-skin contact. David glances toward him, no longer completely unaware of Spock's emotional meddling, but not refuting it as it puts things into a clearer perspective for the child. David nods, "Sure, Dad. I promise."

"Alright...good," Jim finishes softly, and a beat behind, a softly murmured, “Love you, Kid.”

"Love you too, Dad," David whispers, subdued by the sudden serious end to their evening, rocking back and forth in the foggy evening air on a porch swing, the dawn of another day of terror and uncertainty yet remaining.

 

 

Translation Notes: 

_K'hat'n'dlawa_ : A deeply emotional way of saying 'half of my heart and soul'; fell out of common use after Vulcan's reformation.  
_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_ : Meaning simply 'I cherish thee...', with _'Taluhk'_ meaning 'precious'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anyone who doesn't want to post a comment here on AO3, I can be reached for comments at my tumblr cuddlesjohn or over my email madkatter1000@gmail.com. Thank you for the feedback guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, a disclaimer, as I do not own any of these lovely characters, only the majority of my ideas!  
> Let me know what you think below in the comments! =3


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